here's to FREEDOM
by Evaden
Summary: When Elizabeth is captured again, only sea savvy Jack Sparrow can save her, and return her to her husband unless Jack falls in love with her first :: Warning: this is written like a novel, meaning that its V. LONG :: Rated R
1. Chapter One

Port Royal was much the same as it had ever been: a colonialized English harbor in an exotic location. It had seen only minor changes in the last three years – marriages, births, deaths, and considerably fewer pirate hangings (folk swore that the pirate was becoming a dying breed, both literally and figuratively) – but nothing beyond the ordinary. Governor Swann had officially retired only two years after his daughter Elizabeth's marriage, and a replacement for him had come from England within weeks. The new governor – Charles Forinney – had begun immediately on the revival of Port Royal, starting with the state of the roads.  
  
Elizabeth Swann walked now along one of these roads, but could have cared less how many ruts pockmarked the way. Her shoes were squelching as she walked, and she had to raise the hem of her dress to avoid splattering it with the dark mud. It was a little chilly for spring in the Caribbean, but the day promised to warm up by the afternoon.  
  
At the crossroads near the outskirts of the town Elizabeth turned right. The shortest distance to her house would have been to go to the left, but it would have required her to walk past Everly Mansion, and she could not suffer herself the shame if someone therein had seen her with muddy shoes and a basket of vegetables from the local market.  
  
Everly was the home of John Norrington, and his new wife: Emma Forinney Norrington. When Governor Forinney had come to the Caribbean he had brought along his beautiful spinster daughter (unmarried by her own choice), and Commodore Norrington had fallen swiftly in love. Elizabeth remembered, a little bitterly, how quickly John had seemed to forget her. She should have been happy, both for him and for herself now that he was no longer emotionally attached to her, but she was not.  
  
It was not that she regretted her choice not to marry him. Elizabeth loved Will, her husband, very dearly, but the fact of the matter was that John's love for her must clearly not have been strong for him to reject her so quickly. And also, Elizabeth was deathly jealous of Emma Forinney.  
  
It was the money that irked Elizabeth more than John's abandoned love. She was happily married, her husband had a job, they possessed a decent home, and were as poor as church mice. Will had had a bit of good luck a couple of months after their marriage when his master had died suddenly, leaving the Smithy to Will as sole proprietor. Will liked being his own master better than servitude – after all, who didn't – but the work wasn't bringing in enough money, and above all Will wasn't happy.  
  
After the escapade with the cursed treasure and Elizabeth's capture by Pirates four years before, Will had had trouble being satisfied with a stationary life in town. Elizabeth pitied him and felt his pain as much as she could for she too felt as if she were not meant to settle down, but there was nothing to ease their trouble. With a wife, and now a child, to support, Will had no choice but to stay in Port Royal and work hard at the only job he could get and the only job he wanted least. Elizabeth could only imagine how repetitive it had to be making swords day in and day out.  
  
She reached her house - her and Will's house: a tall, aging townhouse in the lower middle class part of town, flanked on either side by exact replicas of itself. The street was silent, and darkened by the shadows of the multi-storied buildings as they hovered in dismal resignation over the muddy alley road. Grasping the curvy iron door handle, Elizabeth pushed her way into the house, announced by the door's creaking hinges that sounded and resounded in the empty hallway.  
  
"I'm home!" she called after the sound of the hinges had died away as she removed her hat and hung it on a nail.  
  
"Mistress?" Estrella the maid came bustling through the hall to take Elizabeth's basket, which Elizabeth gladly relinquished due to its rather cumbersome weight.  
  
Estrella had worked for Elizabeth since she was very young. After her mistress became Mrs. Turner, Estrella had simply transferred from the one house to the other, and though the Turner townhouse was nothing like the Swann's mansion she did not complain. Not even when she discovered that because she was the only maid that Will could afford, and that Elizabeth could not do a stroke of work herself, all the household duties fell inevitably on her own shoulders. Of course, after four years Elizabeth had learned how to cook and even clean to a certain extent, but Estrella was still a tremendous help to her and a last little tie to the life she had lived before in the Governor's mansion. Privately, Elizabeth often wondered how Will could even afford to pay their one maid's wages, but said nothing for fear of looking stingy and suffering Estrella's dismissal.  
  
"Was the market crowded, ma'am?" Estrella was asking. Elizabeth removed the shawl from around her shoulders and hung it beside her hat.  
  
"No, not terribly. It is a rather soggy day out, and perhaps that is the reason," she replied.  
  
"I see. Oh, very good vegetables ma'am. And the melons are not soft, too."  
  
"I checked them specifically," Elizabeth mentioned. "I was determined not to bring back rotten produce like last time." Estrella smiled and went to put the basket in the kitchen.  
  
Elizabeth lifted her skirt a little to examine her shoes. They were caked with mud that spread so as to even splatter her stockings, and now they were dirtying the floor. She slipped her feet out of them with a sigh.  
  
"Estrella, where is Henry?" Elizabeth called as she tiptoed barefoot down the white washed hall. Estrella stuck her head out of the kitchen.  
  
"He's playing, ma'am, in the nursery," she said.  
  
Elizabeth turned onto the staircase and clung tightly to the rail in order not to lay the whole flat of her unprotected feet on the cold wooden steps. Once at the second floor she dashed into her room for another pair of socks before gliding down to the nursery.  
  
She pushed the door open very softly and looked in. Her baby, two-year-old William Henry Turner, was sitting up in his crib singing a song to his toes. The dim gray light of the morning shone through the window and caused Henry's yellow curls to glow like a halo around his little head.  
  
Elizabeth smiled tenderly at her son, lovingly dubbed her Sweetest Angel by herself, and even occasionally by Estrella. The baby had come a year after his parents' wedding, and Estrella claimed openly that there had been no handsomer child before him. Naturally, Elizabeth agreed.  
  
"Henry," she whispered. Henry turned and looked at her with his big blue eyes. Cooing happily, he clambered to the side of his crib and reached out his tiny arms for his mother to hold him.  
  
"Here's mama's baby!" Elizabeth crowed happily as she went to pick him up. "What are you doing?"  
  
Henry bounced up and down and babbled a little because he hadn't really understood.  
  
"We'll go downstairs to see Estrella," Elizabeth told him as she swung him happily out of his crib, "and you can play in the kitchen with the stirring spoons."  
  
The baby repeated the word 'spoons' questioningly.  
  
"Yes, that's right," his mother answered. Situating him on her hip Elizabeth went back downstairs to join the maid who was working laboriously over a pot of stew for lunch.  
  
"Could you watch Henry, Estrella, while I clean the silver?" she asked. "He won't be trouble, I'm sure."  
  
Estrella nodded.  
  
Gathering up a small collection of ladles Elizabeth deposited them with the baby on the floor where he began to play happily.  
  
"There's so much you can do with spoons," Elizabeth remarked about the scene. "The simple things in life, I suppose." She smiled at Estrella and left.  
  
The parlor was dark when she entered, and the dust in the air stung her eyes. Covering her mouth with her hand Elizabeth marched over to the large twelve paned windows and flung them open. Light streamed into the room, covering the harp-backed chairs and mahogany cabinets in the dusty blue glow of a rainy morning.  
  
Elizabeth surveyed it all proudly. The parlor contained her most prized possessions; the dark, highly prized mahogany furniture her father had given her when she married Will - cabrioled chairs and a polished table all covered delicately in cotton sheets to protect them from the dust; the matching breakfront cabinet wherein was displayed all of Elizabeth's silver, most of which had belonged to her mother, with a few pieces as gifts from the wedding. Since Will was poor there had been no further collecting of any silver for Elizabeth to add to her stockpile, but she at least loved and treasured what she had.  
  
She pulled a cloth from a drawer in the sideboard and went to inspect the shining display in the niche of the breakfront. Elizabeth rarely got time to clean her silver now with Henry on her hands all the time and the lack of attention was becoming evident in the now tarnished luster of the sedentary dishes and tureens. Sighing softly, Elizabeth opened the glass doors and carefully lifted her largest gadroon-edge salver onto the table. The salver was followed by many other items of all sorts and when nearly every piece of silver lay out on the rudimentary tablecloth sheet - Elizabeth went to work. Outside the sky was beginning to darken and large black clouds to gather.  
  
Suddenly a cold wind blew into the little parlor. Elizabeth looked quizzically into the sky as she hurried to collect her scattered silverware.  
  
"Looks like a storm's brewin'," Estrella called from the kitchen.  
  
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A/N: Please bear with me here. This story is going to get much more intense... 


	2. Wilde

Savvy Rum Drinker: Thanx for reviewing, glad you liked the beginning of the story. Jack doesn't come in for a while but when he does it will be good - as good as I can make it at least!  
  
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Through the cold gray water of the Port Royal harbor came a ship. The fishermen lingering on the dock gazed up at it with wary interest as it came sliding silently into the bay. It was a tall ship, closely resembling the merchant vessels the East Indiamen, spread with white sails to catch the stormy wind, and made of a very dark wood. By the stiff British frigates and the low rigged fishermen's Ketches and Howkers, the newcomer made quite a contrast as it slunk it's way about. At the mouth of the port it stopped to lower anchor.  
  
All the fishermen were watching it now.  
  
"Were we spectin' a ship from ol' Englan' today?" one grizzled old angler leaned over to his partner to ask.  
  
Up at the Fort the guards were also keeping their eyes on the strange ship.  
  
"It's probably not dangerous," said one without conviction, talking merely because the atmosphere was so eerie, and hoping that his companions would add their advice. Not knowing what to say, they remained silent.  
  
Finally, on shore, one of the fishermen spoke what they were all privately thinking.  
  
"It i'nt much like the Black Pearl at least."  
  
Everyone jumped, and immediately pretended that they hadn't. The ship wasn't like the Pearl at all, and besides...it had come in daylight while the other had come in the dead of night. All persons looked now at the ship rocking almost imperceptibly in the calm sea water and relaxed.  
  
"Well," said an officer from behind the wall of the Fort, "They'll have to sign to dock here." He looked smugly at a lieutenant beside him. "Call the Commodore."  
  
Almost as if on cue, three longboats appeared from behind the strange ship and began to close into the dock, all manned by sailors in striped shirts.  
  
"They almost look like the British," mumbled the angler to himself.  
  
As the head of the first longboat touched the wharf five men in finely tailored coats stepped out onto it. They had long hair and massive feathered hats and though they were all dressed mildly well in waistcoats and lapels they were not nearly so well as their captain, for clearly he stood among them. He was not taller or shorter than any of his companions and might have looked exactly like them, but his coat - a long, full skirted jacket as worn by the wealthy - was brocaded in Spanish gold filigree and dotted with hand carved Indian ivory buttons. From under his feather-bedecked hat one noticed that he had a very carefully and delicately curled mustache and that his hair, unlike that of the men around him, was wavy.  
  
"Some kind of gentleman then," one of the fishermen commented as he surveyed the strangers' finery with one protuberant eye.  
  
The dock keeper met the newcomers before the rest of the sailors had even left their boats.  
  
"It's a shilling to tie up your boats here," he said emphatically. "You owe me three." The sailors glanced at their Captain who was keeping his hat close covering his face.  
  
"What did he say," asked the Captain.  
  
"He said we owe him three bob," answered one of the well-dressed men to his right. The Captain twitched his head ever so subtly and immediately everyone moved aside. He looked up slowly at the dock keeper.  
  
The man jumped nervously at the sight of the Captain's deep green snakelike eyes that stared at him inertly with their narrow pupils.  
  
"We owe you nothing, man," said the Captain in a chillingly soft tone. The dock keeper was far too unsettled to contradict him, and without further adieu the Captain walked away down the dock, followed mutely by his men.  
  
"Hold on now," spluttered the dock keeper as he regained his voice, "You hafta pay up!" The Captain didn't turn around only kept walking and snapped his fingers impatiently. The dock keeper felt a piece of paper being shoved into his hand. Surprised, he looked down at it.  
  
An expression of horror spread over his face as he marked the crumpled slip with a perfect black circle drawn in the center.  
  
"The black spot," he said hoarsely, and tucked it hastily into his waistcoat pocket before anyone could notice. "They're pirates." He looked back at the band of men disappearing into the town.  
  
"I've got to tell the Commodore."  
  
As the group moved through Port Royal the townsfolk watched them inquisitively out of windows and from the doorways of shops. Housewives closed the shutters against them as if they carried some evil pestilence and as they continued on down the streets towards the town center people scattered out of their way.  
  
On reaching the Square, the group stood for a moment by the colossal fountain that graced the center of the cobblestone marketplace and marked the center of Port Royal. All the people watched them out of the corners of their eyes though they pretended that they weren't.  
  
There was a clanking of swords and the sound of boots against the cobblestones as a small flank of the British Royal Navy came marching authoritatively into the square led by the arrogant Lt. Gillette with the bumbling Murtogg at his side.  
  
The red coated soldiers approached the sailors with a stiff gait. Gillette raised his hand for them to stop directly in front of the group and stepped forward with a pompous swagger.  
  
"I presume that you are the gentlemen whose ship is now docked without permission in his Majesty's harbor?" he asked, directing his question to the Captain more than to the men around him. The Captain merely lifted his head and stared at Gillette, who started uncomfortably.  
  
"Very well," he said, a little unsettled, "There have been some complaints against you." Gillette motioned for Murtogg to hand him a small piece of parchment in a rolled seal, which he unfolded. Clearing his throat loudly, he proceeded to read.  
  
"Firstly, that you have not signed your ship for permission to dock; secondly, that you did not tie up your longboats - being three in number - at the wharf; and thirdly, that you gave the docking master . . ." he squinted closer at the paper " . . . a black spot." Gillette rolled the paper up and handed it back to Murtogg.  
  
"Explain," he commanded, turning back to the sailors and staring intently at the Captain's mustache.  
  
"We merely wished to explore your lovely Port," said the Captain silkily, curling that edifice of waxed facial hair with one roughened finger, "Though I suppose we've come to the wrong place to look around. It seems that his Majesty is not so well-disposed towards strangers here."  
  
"His Majesty the king," Gillette said irritably, "does not wish his ports to be overrun by miscreants. All we ask is that you sign for your ship."  
  
"Where do I sign," asked the Captain sharply. Gillette stepped back a little at the sight of the man's reptilian eyes and grabbed nervously at the thick book that Murtogg was handing him. This he opened in front of the Captain.  
  
"This line," he pointed.  
  
The Captain took the quill they gave and wrote in flowing letters:  
  
"J. Wilde."  
  
Gillette inspected the signature closely as if checking for counterfeit. He was trying to think where he'd heard that name before - it sounded all too familiar. He looked up.  
  
"Captain Wilde," he said. "Welcome to Port Royal."  
  
Wilde didn't smile. His green eyes flickered warningly and he turned to leave.  
  
"Wait," Gillette called. "Three shillings for - "  
  
But Wilde and his men kept walking, and finally Gillette decided to ignore it. He snapped the book shut and shoved it at Murtogg before marching away with a signal for his guards to follow.  
  
From the parlor window polishing a silver teapot, Elizabeth was staring lazily out at the street below when Wilde's band walked by.  
  
The Captain's gaze met Elizabeth's for a moment and his weird eyes fixed on her as he passed slowly by the window, taking in the sight of her as if he was committing her to memory. Elizabeth returned his look with a scathing one of her own that would have set fear to any landlubber but the cold Captain Wilde.  
  
She shivered a little at his eerie eyes. The unnaturalness of the man only added to her rampant dislike for being stared at without a reason, and with another scowl Elizabeth turned away from the window in disgust. Wilde stared for a little longer before continuing on towards the Inn, not far away.  
  
"Dolt, sailors," Elizabeth muttered petulantly. The silver on the parlor table was left neglected as she went to join Estrella in the kitchen.  
  
"There's some new sailors come," she said conversationally as she entered.  
  
"Really, ma'am."  
  
"Lt. Gillette cornered them in the Square, but I think they scared him off."  
  
Estrella gave a little laugh as she stirred a pot of soup over the enormous kitchen fireplace.  
  
"Not surprising ma'am; Mr. G is not a tremendously brave man, for all he says." 


	3. Give Him Hell

Savvy-Rum-Drinker: Wow! *blushes* What can I say to a complement like that! ;)  
  
A/N: As I planned it, this story won't be including Jack for much too long of a time so I'm trying to decide whether or not I should stick an extra Jack-only chappie in here. The one problem is that I don't have any idea what it would be about!  
  
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The people of Port Royal soon forgot their strange new guests, and as Wilde and his men did little to disturb the peace they were left primarily to their own devices.  
  
The sailors took immediately to wandering about the town, especially the marketplace, and lingering in doorways and the mouths of alleys. At any scene of revelry or nearly any place they were not wanted, they had a habit of appearing, much to the disgruntlement of Port Royal's neighborly citizens. The strangers never caused any trouble insomuch as being caught in any brawls or indecent crimes, and for as much as the people disliked them Wilde and his men roved safely and gave no one a chance to put them away. Consequently, since they were not liked they could be ignored if anything else. And so they were.  
  
Elizabeth, for her part, had seen enough sailors to last her a lifetime. From the haven of the Governor's mansion, seafaring men had always been somewhat of a novelty and had held a very large place in Elizabeth's heart as a sort of fantastical breed. Now, living down ' i' the docks' had led her to taste the rather unpleasant reality of life among the sailors, and since her capture by pirates three years hence every notion of romanticism had been stripped from her adolescent dreams of the sea. Elizabeth had heard some gossip concerning Wilde and his men. She had swiftly labeled them as ill-begotten miscreants, and had been one of the first in Port Royal to forget their presence.  
  
Now as she crossed through the busy market square completely involved in shopping she was unaware that she was being watched by one of the very men who's birth she had insulted and whom she had unfairly christened with a belittling title. Elizabeth walked slowly up and down the long row of carts that were laden with poultry, fish, and myriads of fruits and vegetables, pausing every now and then to thump her hand over the tough rind of a melon or to test the weight of an egg in her palm. All the time the sailor watched her from his post at the far corner of the square.  
  
Then suddenly, he disappeared.  
  
No one noticed his absence for whether he wished for invisibility or had been given it irreprehensibly by business-minded townspeople, he had achieved it to some end.  
  
Elizabeth was still laboring over a case of tomatoes, trying hard to tell if they were good when Wilde arrived with the sailor who's subtle presence had graced the square only moments ago. Their eyes were on Elizabeth.  
  
Wilde stood watching her for some time, his dark reptilian eyes flickering over her, taking her in. Finally he motioned for his companion to lean in for a question.  
  
"What's her name?" he asked. The other man shook his head.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Wilde reached out and grabbed the brown jacket of a passing gentleman. Pulling him aside the Captain motioned toward the figure of Elizabeth by the vegetable cart.  
  
"Pray forgive my asking but I wish to know the name of yon fine lady there," he explained. The gentleman – a fat, priggish, comedically dignified dandy – shaded his tiny eyes with his hand and surveyed Elizabeth for a moment.  
  
"That's Mrs. Turner," he told Wilde matter-of-factly, turning to face them.  
  
"Mrs. Turner?"  
  
The brown-jacketed individual arranged his waistcoat with a dignified air.  
  
"The same. Husband is Will Turner the blacksmith."  
  
The sailor next to Wilde whispered into the Captain's ear, "Must be that tiny shop we saw..."  
  
"Thank you," Wilde interrupted glibly. To the dandy, "Do you know Mrs. Turner?"  
  
"No," replied the latter in a bored tone. "That she doesn't associate much is all I see."  
  
"For your time," Wilde said calmly, laying a silver piece in the man's palm.  
  
The man stared at it and became instantly friendlier.  
  
"Oh I see. Much obliged. Name's Tom Gellig if you need ever know anything again about the Port or it's citize- "  
  
"Be on your way." Wilde's tone was sharp. With a glance into the narrowed eyes Tom Gellig gave a hasty nod and did as the Captain had bid him.  
  
"They're all rats, these locals," said Wilde quietly as the dandy disappeared in the crowd. Beside him his companion said nothing. Wilde turned to him finally.  
  
"Go and fetch Caleb," he said, "And see if you can give the fellow at the Smithy some orders, maybe – for a sword or something." A small smile flashed sneeringly over his features as he added, "Oh and Derk; give him Hell, ...and my regards." Sep made a small bow and sauntered off, grinning like a coyote all the while.  
  
"There's always a husband," Wilde remarked grimly to himself.  
  
Caleb Sutthing sat in the Boar's Head Tavern pouring over a tankard of ale. He was a huge man with massive shoulders, thick arms and legs, and a chest like a barrel, strapped ignominiously into a waistcoat that looked nicer than him. Caleb had a meaty face edged with uneven patches of a badly shaven beard, all bristly around his chin, and did not succeed in making him look more manly more than to emphasize the baby roundness of his face. He sat silently peering out of squinted eyes from underneath the brim of his hat – one hand curled protectively around his drink, and the other resting on his breech-covered knee.  
  
The atmosphere in the Boar's head was very alive. The place was settled with small groups of loafers and resting fishermen, most of them already drunk. Caleb was surrounded by members of his ship's crew, not participating in their conversation, but keeping his ears open to it and grinning occasionally at their ribald humor. From behind the counter, the barman eyed the group suspiciously.  
  
The front door burst open and the lanky sailor Derk stepped through with a swagger.  
  
"Gimme a pint," he ordered the barman. The barman wiped his hands on his apron and filled a mug until the froth spilled over the top before sliding it in Derk's direction.  
  
Derk grabbed the drink and took a long swig. He flicked a coin into the barman's palm and took a seat emphatically on the bench opposite Caleb.  
  
"Oy, Caleb," he growled. Caleb eyed the other sailor narrowly as the latter drank again.  
  
"What's the order?" he asked.  
  
Derk swallowed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.  
  
"I got mine straight from the Cap'n hisself," he replied with a delighted grin. "We was in the Square, keeping watch on this lady, Cap'n gets it in'o his 'ead to know her name."  
  
Caleb grunted as a sign for Derk to continue.  
  
"I don't knows this, so we pulls a fella' o'er an' aks him wots the lady's name. 'E says its 'Mrs. Turner'."  
  
Caleb grunted again.  
  
"Misses?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah." Derk nodded hastily. "She's a misses. Wall, Cap'n ain't none too pleased, so 'e aksed wots 'er husband's name. The fella says its Will," he leaned in closer with a grin, "...Will of the Blacksmithy."  
  
"And the Captain said?"  
  
"'E says to give him an order – for a weapon, you know. 'Give him my regards' says he," Derk smiled and Caleb laughed a harsh, throaty laugh.  
  
"So, says I; let's give 'im the Captain's...regards."  
  
Derk leaned back and finished his drink with a satisfied flourish. 


	4. Unwanted Customers

Savvy-Rum-Drinker: Can I ever live up?! :)  
  
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Turner Blacksmith and Metalworks was devoid of customers even though it was only midday.  
  
Will Turner sat quietly in a corner, carefully sharpening the blade of a newly-made sword. The only sounds in the room was the harsh metal-on-metal of the sword against the whetstone and the crackling of the huge blacksmith's fire in the grate. Near the center of the room, bent studiously over a rickety wooden table and a dismantled lantern frame, was Tom Shilling, Will's apprentice.  
  
After Will's former master Mr. Brown had died and Will had inherited the Smithy, it had been necessary to take on an apprentice of his own, thus the signing on of Tom. He was a sandy-haired youth, at sixteen nearly seven years Will's junior, with long limbs, and a thin, pale face sprinkled with burnished freckles. Tom was extremely keen, and took to metalwork with determination. Will had seen much improvement in him since he had begun his apprenticeship two years prior, and now felt fully confident to entrust to him the more complicated orders.  
  
The only job that Will would not let him touch was that of sword-making. It was Will's specialty and his joy to create the beautiful weapons. It thrilled him every time to feel the clean, fluid metal blade in his hands, and to balance it evenly, coupled with its decorative curved handle. Will still practiced with the swords that he made, though not as long nor as often as he had before his marriage for as much as he liked swordplay, it took a back seat to his home obligations.  
  
The day had grown uncommonly hot and inside the shop the air was no better. The fire, kept roaring in the grate at all times, increased the heat inside at least twice over, and Will had thrown open the little window at the side of the shop in an effort to benefit from any wind that chanced to blow down the alley outside. Already both he and Tom were soaked with sweat.  
  
Will worked silently at his job. The sword had taken him little over four weeks to make, and just under three days to fit the guard to it. It was a magnificent weapon, nearly three feet in length and made of genuine spring steel. It had been a special request by the Governor Forinney who needed it to wear when he presented himself to the king at Court that winter in England. Will had labored feverishly over his task, making every effort to perfect the weapon. It was the pride of his career, he told himself. There surely could be no better sword. What disappointed him most was the realization that it would never see battle. Nor daylight either, most likely. Charles Forinney wore swords with his dress uniform, but Will doubted very much that he knew even how to use one properly, or even at all.  
  
With a sudden creak the shop's door swung open to admit the burly figure of Caleb Suthing followed closely by Derk and a few select members of their mottled band. Tom's head shot up to look at them expectantly, then turned to glance at Will who's thoughtful gaze had also left his work in order to inspect the newcomers.  
  
One look at the group was all it took to arouse Will's suspicion. They were well dressed - at least, some of them were - but their faces were dirty and their hair unkempt. Will recognized them as the sailors who had recently come to the Port and now enjoyed themselves as the center of all private attention, and though they had not yet caused any harm to anyone he was still wary of them. They were strangers after all. But then, Will Turner was always suspicious.  
  
It was part of his nature. Elizabeth had tried to tell him again and again that in order to live in sea Port filled with unsatisfactory seamen and rabble from everywhere in the world one must not look at everyone as if they were criminals. Will disagreed: he thought that when living in a Port one must always be aware of oneself. Naturally Elizabeth would counter this neatly by saying that perhaps this was true but if he spent so much time labeling good men as bad ones, wouldn't he overlook the really bad ones in the process?  
  
Somehow now Will had a feeling that the sailors in his shop were not of the right sort and resolved to keep an eye on them. This he did as subtly as he could from over the handle of the unfinished sword in his hands.  
  
Caleb came to a halt in front of Tom's table.  
  
"'Ello lad," he said with a gruff sneer. "This your shop?"  
  
Will laid the Governor's sword down carefully on the stool in front of him and got to his feet.  
  
"No," he said warily, "It is mine."  
  
He could have swore that he saw a little smile twitch at the corner of his guest's mouth.  
  
"Then you're Turner?" Caleb asked slowly.  
  
"I am." Will furrowed his brow at Derk who had looked down suddenly at the floor. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"  
  
Caleb shuffled his big feet.  
  
"Just a couple of sailors come on request of their Captain."  
  
"And who is your Captain?"  
  
Derk glanced quickly up at Caleb, but was silenced from speaking by him.  
  
"Captain Wilde."  
  
Will nodded vaguely. "The name is unfamiliar to me."  
  
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"  
  
Ignoring Will, Caleb ambled over to one of the many stands around the shop that served as a display for the swords that Will made. Will's jaw tightened as Caleb ran his hand clumsily over the weapons.  
  
"Such pretty things," said Caleb. His beady eyes wandered over the display and then to the stool whereupon lay the Governor's sword. "Wot's this?" he remarked, stepping over to it.  
  
Will placed himself hastily in the man's path.  
  
"It's not for sale," he told Caleb grimly.  
  
Caleb looked affronted at first, but suddenly the look slid off of his face and he chuckled lightheartedly.  
  
"No harm young sir," he cackled. "I just wanted a look."  
  
Will paused. Well, what harm could looking do, he thought.  
  
"Very well." He moved aside.  
  
Caleb's eyes lit up at the sight of the sword. A stray beam of sunlight had broken through the small window and lit upon the weapon, sending effulgent streams of light coursing all over it's silvery exterior.  
  
"Who's this one for?" Caleb asked in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"The Governor."  
  
Caleb's eye twitched. "Would you happen to have any more of these in the shop?" he asked with ill disguised covetousness. Will resisted the urge to laugh outloud.  
  
"I think not," he replied. "That one there's taken me nearly a month to finish."  
  
He watched as Caleb continued to inspect the weapon. Suddenly the man looked up.  
  
"Would you be willing to make another one?"  
  
"For a sum, yes."  
  
"How much d'ye charge?"  
  
Will surveyed his guest doubtfully. "At least thirty pounds," he said. "Swords do not come cheap."  
  
To his surprise, Caleb merely nodded and looked back down at the weapon on the stool. Will became instantly more suspicious. It was apparent to him that the man was in no state of wealth and in order to purchase the sword he required he would have to be moderately well-to-do.  
  
"D'ye have any designs about the place?" Caleb was asking. "Of the kind that tells the different swords?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"I'd like to see them, if'n ye don' mind."  
  
Will forced himself to smile. "Not at all," he said untruthfully. With one last regretfully look at his masterpiece on the stool, Will turned and went to the back room for his book of designs.  
  
When he came back he was shocked to see Caleb nonchalantly wielding the prized sword.  
  
"Put that back!" Will ordered in a panic thinking how the handle was not firmly fixed on the blade and how long it would take to fix it if it fell apart. Caleb brandished the weapon in the air with a grin.  
  
"This is a lovely sword," he said.  
  
"Yes I know. Please return it to the stool," Will responded.  
  
"I want this one for the Captain. Are you sure ye can' give it to 'im?"  
  
"Very sure. Your Captain will have to order another if he wants one of that type."  
  
Caleb's face turned instantly cold. He glared at Will for a second before leaning stiffly over the bench and dumping the sword over the stool. Will watched in horror as it fell onto the floor and the pile of metal shavings and tools with a sickening screech.  
  
He turned fiercely to Caleb.  
  
"Get out of my shop."  
  
Caleb came up close to Will and raised himself to his full height, which was nearly six foot two. Feeling slightly less daring at the size of his enormous customer Will took a step backwards.  
  
Caleb glared at him.  
  
"No one tells me wot to do," he said.  
  
"I'm am now," Will countered neatly. Caleb clenched his fists with a loud crunch of his knuckles. There was a suspenseful pause.  
  
Finally Caleb stepped away from Will and the glare disappeared from his face.  
  
"Al'right, al'right I'll not hurt ye," he said jocularly. "Jess make me Captain a sword like the one ye got thar an' I'll be back far it in a week or so." Will looked bitterly at the sword lying unevenly in the pile of rubbish and nodded. It was taking all his self-control to withhold from flying at Caleb and whaling on him.  
  
Caleb turned around. "We're leavin'," he announced to his escort. With a sharp wink at Tom, he went to the door and exited the shop followed one by one by the rest of the sailors.  
  
Tom looked over at Will who was still standing where Caleb had left him.  
  
"If I may say so, sir," he said slowly, "Being a blacksmith is terrible subjection."  
  
Will said nothing.  
  
========================================  
  
A/N: Okay now, the next chapter is one especially for you who have been begging me to write one about Jack. I had been a little nervous about writing it cause how in the world do you (accurately) describe a character like Jack Sparrow? But I gave it a shot and even if it may not live up to ideals, I had fun writing it so :P  
  
Hope you like it and please review! 


	5. Fastest Ship in the Caribbean

The Black Pearl raced along the waves, clipping the foamy tips with its prow and sending clouds of iridescent spray into the salty air. A light wind was blowing at just the perfect latitude and the sea was nearly flat under the bright midday sun.  
  
Jack Sparrow stood at the helm with both hands on the wheel. His black hair whipped behind him with the wind and the sun glanced off his bronzed skin. In his black eyes there was a wild gleam. His crew of pirates ran up and down the ship's deck, adjusting the ropes and the sails as they went. The Pearl's only female pirate, Anamaria, glibly climbed the rigging and waved her battered leather hat in the air at the ship behind them.  
  
The British St. Charles.  
  
It was a genuine English frigate of undoubted speed, painted the traditional brown and black with flowing white sails.  
  
On deck, Officer Carlisle peered pompously out through his spyglass. Reams of striped-shirted sailors milled speedily about in a fashion similar to the Pirates aboard the Pearl, adjusting the sailing velocity of their ship with the adjustment of the sails.  
  
"Is she at her full speed?" an Officer shouted down at the leftenant on the lower deck.  
  
"Nearly!" the latter returned.  
  
Officer Carlisle smiled ostentatiously as he continued to watch the activities of the Pearl through his spyglass.  
  
Jack Sparrow dug into his pocket and brought out a spyglass of his own and unfolded it with a lash of his hand.  
  
"These hair nets think they can outwit Captain Jack Sparrow," he grinned as he looked back at the British ship.  
  
"Slow 'er down!" he shouted at his crew. Without questioning his logic they did as they were told.  
  
The St. Charles came looming stiffly behind them.  
  
"These Pirates think they can outwit his Majesty's Royal Navy," Carlisle remarked with a pitying look at the second Officer Davies at his right. Davies nodded glibly. "We're gaining speed!" called the leftenant from below. "-- knots!"  
  
"Excellent," said Carlisle as he folded his telescope. "We have them now."  
  
The frigate was closing fast on the Pearl. Jack steadied the wheel of his ship and glanced behind him. The stern of his ship was now only a galleon's length ahead of the prow of the St. Charles. Aboard the British frigate the sailors were working busily, and Carlisle had a gleam in his eye.  
  
"And really bad eggs," hummed Jack uncertainly, for no reason.  
  
Breathing heavily, Mr. Gibbs came running up to Jack.  
  
"Should we open the topsail now?" he asked eagerly. Jack looked at him.  
  
"Aye."  
  
Mr. Gibbs dashed to the rail and shouted the command at the crew. Anamaria threw up one fist and five of the pirates shimmied up the rigging to the top of the middle mast to unfold the dormant topsail.  
  
"Release the topsail!" shouted the green backed parrot as he dived between the ropes.  
  
"Let her fly!" Jack roared above the noise of the sea. On command the topsail was loosed and its corners were tied firmly down to provide plenty of leverage for the ship. Instantly the Black Pearl gained inches, then feet, then meters of water to lie in the space between it and the St. Charles as it caught the wind in the added sail.  
  
"She's opened her topsail, sir," called the British leftenant to Carlisle. The Officer surveyed the scene shrewdly with his spyglass.  
  
"Well, open ours then," he commanded.  
  
"Aye sir," the leftenant saluted.  
  
"She's opened her topsail, Captain!" shouted Marty from the deck of the Pearl. Jack turned and watched the creamy white sail at the top of the Charles being gently unfurled. It spread open with the wind like a napkin. Jack snorted.  
  
"They'll never catch us in that old sieve."  
  
Gibbs hurried back up to Jack at the wheel of the ship.  
  
"Not to contradict yer subliminal self, Cap'n, but t'other ships' gainin' on us again," he said. Jack looked affronted.  
  
"I didn't say nothin'," Gibbs murmured repentantly. He cast a worried glance over Jack's shoulder at the approaching enemy before retreating to the lower deck. "Its dreadful bad luck being chased," he confided to Marty, who nodded solemnly. Anamaria came by and overheard them.  
  
"Perhaps it's bad luck," she said haughtily. "But only if'n ye have no chance to escape."  
  
Gibbs crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Well," he said. "We don'."  
  
"Yes we do," said Anamaria emphatically and pointed to the third mast where two sails sat still tightly rolled up.  
  
"Aye," Gibbs said excitedly. "I didn't see that. What a blasted fool I am."  
  
"Gotta be aware," put in Marty, who had known about the sails the whole time but hadn't been bright enough to point it out.  
  
Anamaria leaned over the side of the ship to look at the St. Charles, which was rapidly gaining on them. Gibbs joined her in the watch, grinning evilly.  
  
"They can't see the sails," he said, "and they've already got all of theirs out already."  
  
"Jack's done it again," said Anamaria admiringly.  
  
Marty looked closer at the incoming frigate. "But when's he goin' a loose the sails? T'other ship's comin' terrible close."  
  
On the deck of the Charles, Officer Carlisle was grinning inanely. At last, he thought, they would catch the legendary Jack Sparrow. He, Richard Carlisle, would be the one who finally brought the wily Pirate to justice. Then, of course, it would be the name of Carlisle that would become legendary, not the rapscallion Sparrow. He chuckled gleefully at the thought. All the while his ship inched closer and closer to the rear of the Black Pearl.  
  
All of the pirates were leaning over the sides of their ship, pretending to be calm as their enemy closed in at an impossible proximity. Even Anamaria looked up at Jack in disconcerted anticipation when after many suspenseful minutes he still showed no sign of giving orders to release the sails.  
  
Carlisle was in his element. He saw deification as right around the corner. He would be sent to England perhaps and knighted. Everywhere he went he would be hailed as the man who caught Jack Sparrow. Tension built up inside him as he waited for his ship to come in range of the Pearl, when he would swing the frigate around and engage in combat with the pirate ship.  
  
Finally Jack motioned for his crew to make their way to the masts and prepare to undo the rigging that anchored the sails. In full haste they did this, and waited each hidden in expectation of the moment.  
  
Finally...  
  
"He's in our hands!" roared Carlisle.  
  
Jack made his command and the sails were opened to full. Wind filled them instantly and within minutes the Pearl had gained successful leverage.  
  
"What?" cried Carlisle. Turning furiously to the leftenant, "Speed this ship up!"  
  
The Pearl was racing farther and farther away. Carlisle felt his nerve slip slowly away.  
  
"I can't sir!" the leftenant was saying.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"She's going as fast as she can, sir!"  
  
Crazily, Carlisle turned his bloodshot eyes into his spyglass and looked back at the Pearl. With full sails blazing, the ship was soaring off into the sunset. Jack turned back and waved his hat cheerfully at them amid hearty shouts and jeers from the pirate crew.  
  
From the lookout Marty shouted grandly, "It was lovely to have sailed with his Majesty's Navy!"  
  
Carlisle folded the spyglass. Feeling a little sick to his stomach he watched as the pirate ship grew smaller and smaller in the distance before fading away completely on the horizon.  
  
============================================  
  
A/N: I apologize for a murdering of any nautical terminology but I'm not as well versed in it as I'd like to be. Please bear with me: I'm learning! 


	6. Something Wicked

Savvy-Rum-Drinker: All these complements; what can I say! But I'm glad you liked the 'Jack' chappie. There's more of him coming, I promise, just a little later. And by the way, add a new chapter to your story because IT'S INTERESTING AND I WANT TO READ MORE!!!!! ;)  
  
A/N: As far as writing goes (think wording and flowery stuff), I think this chapter here is one of the better ones. *sigh* Still: it's up to you to decide that. R&R!  
  
============================================  
  
Elizabeth walked slowly down the left arm of the circular promenade leading to the sluice gate marking the entrance to and exit of Terris Alcote, carefully putting one foot in front of the other in quiet meditation as she watched the ground. Her forehead was pulled into a small worried frown and her lips pouted outward ever so slightly as she ruminated over her afternoon.  
  
Terris Alcote was the grandest home in all of Port Royal, second only to Avery Hall - where the Norringtons kept residence - and equal to the Governor's Mansion that overlooked it from the top of the hill near the Fort. It was three stories tall and nearly fifty feet in length, lined with the popular twelve-paned windows and trimmed with genuine sculpted wooden moldings shipped directly from England. Thick Grecian columns graced the front portico and magnificent flowered gardens gave the desired effect of intimidation to any less-worthy of the passers' by.  
  
It was a house to make anyone covetous, perhaps most of all Elizabeth, for the Alcote was the home of the retired governor Weatherby Swann, her father. And it did make her covetous: very, very much so. In fact - though she never would admit it to anyone, even herself - she could barely stand to look at the house without filling with a torrid and inexpressible jealousy.  
  
Since her marriage, Elizabeth had lived in the same little town home on Darby Lane. Will had scraped up enough money from his savings to buy it for them before the wedding and while it was quite the opposite of what she had been used to she accepted it without complaint. Her father had offered her a quaint little villa on Hereford near the Smithy, but Elizabeth had made a conscious decision then, and long before she'd even thought of Will as a suitor, not to accept her father's charity. She would make it on her own, so she thought - it shouldn't be too hard. Afterwards, she realized, it was more difficult than she had dreamed.  
  
After three years the strangeness of pauperism had worn almost completely away, returning only every now and then to plague her usually when she was depressed. Of the few things that brought about that wave of resentment with respect to the life she used to lead, Terris Alcote was the worst.  
  
Elizabeth was sure that it wouldn't have been so bad if only her father didn't pity her. She rather disliked visiting him now for fear of repeating their interludes over again: long, mournful pauses in conversation whenever she talked about her week, continual hints at what Mr. Swann could give her to make her laborious existence easier if she'd only ask, and the constant haranguing about her home life and her general well-being. Elizabeth was sick unto death of being questioned about her well-being, especially in such pitying tones, as if she crawled on her belly day and night polishing boots just to make sure she didn't starve. It was usually after questions such as this that she ended the conversation abruptly and left, thinking herself well off for once.  
  
In such she was divided. Her soul was torn in two parts: one part wishing to be wealthy again, living the life of luxury and ease, the other stubbornly resisting the lure of the lap of idleness by a firm and conscious decision to live out her own time as she was able. This without conducing beneficence from commiserating relatives, naturally.  
  
A small butterfly came fluttering over the gravel walk in front of her, coming to rest on a pink hued geranium that bobbed close by her feet. She was vaguely aware of a fat bee that was wandering carelessly nearby and although her mind remained a million miles away, she kept a close and careful watch on the insect. Elizabeth had a sudden urge to turn around and see if her father was watching her, then decided against it because she knew that he would be.  
  
She hated that.  
  
It aggravated her that her father just simply could not accept her status as 'below wealth.' It meant that she was below Society, and he still asked her how she was able to live with that. Elizabeth told him again and again that the very last thing she ever wanted was to be a part of the sedate and extensively vitriolic Georgian society mill, and she meant it. That was one of the benefits of being the Blacksmith's wife. You weren't restricted by the multiple social mores that Society as a whole placed inevitably on the shoulders of the wealthy.  
  
The bee was flying closer now, so Elizabeth quickened her pace in order to pass it in safety. She reached the front gate and threw a quick glance over her shoulder before she could stop herself. There, in one of the upper windows of the Alcote's east wing stood Weatherby Swann. He was watching her, like she had supposed he would be, with a look on his face that expressed an apparent feeling of pity.  
  
Elizabeth caught his gaze with hers momentarily, then turned away with a scowl. Feeling a little hotheaded, she called to Estrella who was following her and holding tightly to little Henry's hand. The baby seemed ready to burst from his seams as he pointed to everything in the garden, asking what it was and wanting to run away the whole time.  
  
"Come, Estrella," Elizabeth said, smiling a little through her distress at her son who, even at two, was swiftly becoming a mischief-maker of extreme proportions. Estrella looked up at her mistress a little wildly as she tugged in vain at Henry's arm.  
  
"Will is soon to come home and we must hurry to make the dinner," Elizabeth called to the maid. Estrella nodded. Her grip loosened suddenly on the baby who took off running down the walk toward his mother with a delighted giggle at having escaped. Elizabeth reached down to scoop up her son as he reached her.  
  
"I think I'll hold him for awhile," she told Estrella. "As you wish ma'am," the latter responded tiredly.  
  
There was no carriage waiting for them at the road (Will could not afford to keep one) but Elizabeth was used to this and turned resolutely out in the direction of D. Lane and her small house. Estrella followed primly with her hands clasped deferentially in front of her.  
  
"I wonder what we should make for supper tonight," Elizabeth said conversationally as they walked slowly down a rather deserted alley lane on their way to Darby.  
  
Estrella was about to answer when Elizabeth stopped suddenly and hushed her.  
  
A man walked slowly from around a corner and came to a halt in the center of the road. He was wearing a long brocaded coat and boots of the kind rarely seen on anyone but Pirates. His head was bent low and his face was hidden by a large and rather obsequious hat.  
  
Elizabeth's pulse quickened tenfold.  
  
Quickly she glanced around, keeping a firm hand on Estrella's arm in order to make her stay completely still. The alley was completely empty, and an eerie silence reigned around them as they stood hesitantly on the spot. Estrella came closer to her mistress instinctively and even Henry huddled smaller in the crook of Elizabeth's arm.  
  
Elizabeth said nothing and only hoped that the man would go away and leave them be. She watched him tentatively, preying on every movement in a silent self-preparation to flee if the need called for it. The man continued to stand there, blocking their path, and finally Elizabeth decided it was time to educate Estrella with an optional plan of escape.  
  
"We'll take the other route," she whispered discreetly at her maid, "Just turn slowly, and walk away. Try not to attract attention, that is; don't look like you're running away."  
  
Estrella nodded solemnly.  
  
With a little smile in false confidence, Elizabeth started to follow her plan into action when the man spoke.  
  
"Mrs. Turner?"  
  
Elizabeth looked back at him curiously.  
  
"Yes?" she answered hesitantly.  
  
The man came forward and Elizabeth felt Estrella take a sudden jump backward.  
  
"Run ma'am," the maid whispered fiercely.  
  
"No," Elizabeth replied. "Wait just a moment." She never knew why she said that, but it suddenly seemed just as reasonable for the stranger to be well intentioned as she had supposed him not to be.  
  
When he had come within a close two feet of them the man looked up. Elizabeth started violently and Estrella gasped most impolitely in shock at his eyes. Suddenly Elizabeth recognized him as the sailor who had stared so boldly at her through the window when she was polishing her silver not long ago.  
  
She frowned and prepared to say something sharp when the stranger suddenly took her hand and raised it gently to his lips.  
  
"My Lady," he said in a deep, sultry voice that echoed to Elizabeth's marrow. She blushed prettily, unexpectedly charmed, but she did not let down her guard.  
  
"I do not believe we have met, sir," Elizabeth said.  
  
The man smiled at her.  
  
"Forgive me," he said apologetically, "I am James Wilde...Captain James Wilde."  
  
Elizabeth made a little curtsey. "Good day to you. Unfortunately, I cannot stay to talk as I have duties at the home calling me." She nodded curtly. "It was a pleasure."  
  
She turned to leave but the man kept a tight grip on her hand.  
  
"Elizabeth..." he said suddenly.  
  
Estrella looked at her mistress in tremulous aggrievement as she waited for her to reply. Elizabeth recovered from her shock and faced Wilde with narrowed eyes.  
  
"How is it that you know my name?" she asked.  
  
Wilde shrugged. "I've asked different people." He looked seriously into her face. "I've been watching you for some time."  
  
Elizabeth's heart started to pound.  
  
"Oh?" she asked in anger. "May I ask why?"  
  
The Captain took her hand in both of his as he replied earnestly, "Because, in all my life, I've never seen anyone so beautiful as you are."  
  
A little flattered but still extremely wary, Elizabeth looked the man in the face. She was struck momentarily dumb at his words but her speech was impaired mostly by the indecision of what to say to such a declaration. Wilde, luckily, kept talking and thus saved her from an embarrassing silence.  
  
"Many women would leap at the chance I am prepared to offer you," he said.  
  
"What chance is this?"  
  
Wilde grinned. "The chance to come with me on my ship." Elizabeth opened her mouth in utter disbelief.  
  
"You would live in the richest manner," the Captain assured her. "I am very wealthy, and would provide you with anything you desire. Jewels? Diamonds even? I can give you these things..."  
  
It was all very sudden, but Elizabeth was so repulsed by the pure unbridled audacity of him that she replied instantly.  
  
"Absolutely not!" she said, horrified. "How dare you proposition me in such a manner! It is uncalled for!" She tried to pull away by Wilde grasped her hand tightly and would not let her go.  
  
Estrella screamed.  
  
"Take the baby!" Elizabeth ordered her, handing Henry over. Estrella bundled him in her arms and stumbled away down the alley. "Call for help!" Elizabeth shrieked. She felt Wilde's hand close over her mouth.  
  
"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked. "I'd never hurt you."  
  
"You're actions speak otherwise," Elizabeth said bitterly as the Captain removed his hand from over her face.  
  
"Tut, tut, Elizabeth," Wilde remonstrated. "You didn't tell me to let you go. And I would not have silenced you if you hadn't gotten so testy with me." He leaned in closer as if to inspect her as he said slowly, "You think I'm a fiend, don't you."  
  
Elizabeth curled and uncurled the fingers of the hand that Wilde held captive.  
  
"I hardly know you," she said. "How can I make a judgment of someone I do know."  
  
Wilde pulled back.  
  
"Spoken like a lady," he commented. "I knew you were a lady ever since I saw you. No commoner would carry themselves so regally." Elizabeth cringed. Her heart was still pounding hard within her chest and the constant surge of emotions and adrenaline was beginning to make her weary.  
  
"Let me go," she begged. "Please: I mean you no harm."  
  
"Let you go?" Wilde repeated. "I cannot do that. Now that I've got you here I mean to have you accept my proposal."  
  
"But I've already told you!" said Elizabeth irritably. "I will not go with you. Now please, release me!"  
  
Wilde clenched her hand tighter so that it began to turn purple. Elizabeth winced.  
  
"I intended to make a nice, decent, gentlemanly offer," the Captain began coldly, "but you turned me down. Now, I fear I must resort to worse means of persuasion."  
  
Elizabeth gasped and began to struggle to get away but Wilde only laughed at her efforts as he held her hand in a painful vice. Finally Elizabeth began to cry.  
  
"Don't do that, lady," Wilde said cruelly. "You'll like it aboard my ship. I promise. It will be so much better than here, you just need to get used to the idea."  
  
Realizing intently that he meant to kidnap her, Elizabeth wrenched herself hard away from him, nearly pulling her arm out of the socket, and screamed at the top of her lungs. Wilde grabbed her around her waist and shoved a hand roughly over her mouth.  
  
"Don't do that, Elizabeth, or it will be very much worse for you," he warned. Elizabeth only blinked at him through her tears and whimpered.  
  
Suddenly the alley was filled with the sounds of many feet coming toward them and the clinking of swords and muskets as an armed flank of the British Royal Navy came surging at Wilde, led valiantly by Commodore Norrington. Wilde released Elizabeth at the sight of them and stood nonchalantly as the soldiers surrounded him and aimed their muskets directly at his head.  
  
Elizabeth gave a cry of relief and flew into Norrington's arms. A little shocked at the gesture, Norrington held her close and looked firmly at her reprobate, would-be captor.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked sternly.  
  
Wilde shrugged but said nothing. Norrington surveyed him shrewdly. "It is criminal to force the hand of a lady," he said. "You, sir, are under arrest, and will be taken at this time to prison until I deem it safe for you to be released."  
  
The captain glowered darkly at him but continued to remain silent even as two Infantrymen came up and put him in handcuffs. As they led him away, Norrington looked down at Elizabeth.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded, and looked down at her feet.  
  
It had been years since she had spoken with her former fiancé, John Norrington, and there was an awkward pause as both of them searched for something to say. Finally the commodore offered her his arm.  
  
"Let me escort you home," he said gently. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Caleb stared a little uneasily at the figure of his commanding officer leaning against the moldy prison wall, and carefully avoided meeting the glistening green eyes.  
  
"When did you realize it?" Wilde asked through the hollow silence.  
  
Caleb gulped.  
  
"Only - only a few minutes ago."  
  
"Do you know how long I've been in this place?"  
  
"N-no."  
  
Wilde glared at him, still motionless against the wall.  
  
"THREE BLOODY HOURS!!!" he hissed vehemently. Caleb jumped hastily back from the bars of the Captain's cell while Derk cowered beside him in heartily undisguised fright.  
  
There was a long and uncomfortable silence as the sound of Wilde's voice reverberated away by the surrounding prison cells. Caleb glanced timorously up.  
  
"Straighten up, you group of great lubbers, you," Wilde snapped at the group of his crew before him. Immediately they obeyed. "Hearts of lions, all of you," remarked the Captain in obvious disgust. "Now: if you please, I'd like to leave this place. Caleb, you hound; do the honors."  
  
Caleb scowled in reply but did not fail to obey. The other crewmembers stepped back while their surrogate leader grasped the iron prison door in both his huge fists and lifted it clean off of its hinges.  
  
Wilde stepped through the open doorway, still fuming.  
  
"They'll be after us soon," he muttered, "Damn blasted Navy – if my plan is going to work, we have to do it now." Caleb puffed an assent as he turned to set the door down against the wall.  
  
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Elizabeth looked up and studied the profile of John Norrington, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Her heart was still beating rapidly, though its speed had subsided considerably since her rescue from the clutches of the scoundrel Captain Wilde.  
  
What an afternoon it had been. In all her years in Port Royal Elizabeth had never been so ignominiously affronted by anyone like she had been by Wilde. The shock was severe, and she doubted that it would disappear with speed.  
  
Instinctively, she sighed.  
  
All was silent as she walked quietly down the street, arm in arm with the Commodore and she didn't think it could possibly get more uncomfortable than it was now. Norrington walked straight and stiffly with his shoulders squared and his gait hinting at a march. Elizabeth clung delicately to him, appreciating his presence there for her in her distress, but also wishing desperately that it wasn't he who had come to her rescue.  
  
Elizabeth had wished for everything to stay normal after she married Will, and in her naiveté she thought it would. Of course, as she had been constantly ruminating over for the last three years, it had not only changed but it had changed quite drastically. Now she was very poor, the ties between her and her father were all but obliterated, and her formerly abhorred ex-fiancé Norrington was not only married but also he had not spoken to her since his nuptials. Elizabeth suspected highly that his wife did not like her, maybe even detested her because the choices she had made. No sane person with wealth and security would have traded it for the life of a pauper and Mrs. Turner realized that she had done something of novelty to anyone within societal circles.  
  
She could not place exactly why it was so unsettling to be around John now, but it just was.  
  
Elizabeth lowered her eyes back to the ground.  
  
Beside her Norrington felt her move and glanced down at her with concern.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, his tone quavering with just a hint of hesitance. Elizabeth nodded, still resolutely evading his gaze.  
  
A carriage was coming slowly up the road in their direction. As it rumbled up alongside them a woman leaned out. She was tall and very thin, with reams of dark hair falling in curls under an enormous feathered hat that succeeded in its own right in nearly eclipsing the wearer's face with its size. She might have been considered pretty, but was severely overdone, and her expression suggested that she was not perhaps the nicest person.  
  
Elizabeth saw her and turned crimson down to the tips of her toes. As the carriage came to a halt, Elizabeth suddenly wished that the ground would gently open up and deposit her into a hole. The lady with the feathered hat was one of the last people on earth she would ever want to meet, especially in such an aggravated state as she was now.  
  
Emma Forinney Norrington.  
  
Emma blinked her almond eyes at her husband and then at the bashful Mrs. Turner beside him.  
  
"John?" said Emma shrilly.  
  
Norrington answered his wife. He felt Elizabeth's grip on his arm tighten considerably as Emma looked her over once more, and wished that he could assure her that she wasn't the only one who felt awkward.  
  
Emma sat in a minute of stony silence before nodding curtly to Elizabeth and acknowledging her by name.  
  
"Mrs. Turner," she said. Elizabeth cringed as the other woman pronounced her surname so snidely as if it was an insult.  
  
Elizabeth raised her eyes to Emma Norrington's face with scornful enmity as her pride seared up.  
  
"Mrs. Norrington," she replied, putting emphasis on every syllable. Emma's mouth twitched at the corner.  
  
"John," she said, turning back to her husband. "I'm just off to tea at the Parker's. I shall not be gone long." She extended her hand out for her husband to kiss graciously. "Don't wait up darling."  
  
Elizabeth felt like gagging, but Norrington smiled like a man who couldn't distinguish affection from depreciation and kissed his wife's hand before waving the carriage on. Emma nodded sullenly at Elizabeth and straightened her own gargantuan hat as her ride departed off to continue its journey to the Parkers.  
  
Norrington watched her go, and then patted Elizabeth's hand as they began to walk. Since it was such an awkward event, he cleverly avoided talking about his wife or his marriage. Elizabeth felt this was all good and well for if he had begun on that topic she was sure she would have winded him without second thoughts. Norrington seemed to be aware of this so he retreated to a much safer revenue for discussion.  
  
"You must be exhausted," he commented, "You've been through a great deal."  
  
You have no idea, Elizabeth thought bitterly.  
  
They entered onto the street where the Turners' home was stationed. At the door Elizabeth reached into her pocket for the key in order to go inside but Norrington stopped her.  
  
"Elizabeth..."  
  
She stared at him curiously. "Yes?"  
  
All traces of the contented married man were gone from his face and with a slight shock Elizabeth saw the same old John Norrington that she remembered from her childhood. There was a little earnestness in his eyes as he took her hands.  
  
"I know that since our respective marriages things have been quite different between us," the Commodore said, and Elizabeth smiled wanly.  
  
"You've noticed," she replied. Norrington nodded.  
  
"It was not how I had planned for it to be," he told her hastily as if the words had been lingering in his brain for a long time and were now popping synergistically to the surface. "Elizabeth, I loved you a great deal - nearly all the latter half of your life - and though naturally these past feelings must remain somewhat erroneous to our good-fellowship I would like to know that I haven't completely lost you even as a friend."  
  
The words sounded so unnatural coming from the Commodore that Elizabeth was stricken momentarily dumb as she fought for an adequate reply.  
  
"I-I," she stammered, and then sighed. "Yes: I've been a little removed for too long," she confessed, "And I do miss some of the little things about my old life." Elizabeth smiled sympathetically at Norrington and felt suddenly more grown up than ever as she said something she never would have expected to say to anyone.  
  
"Dear Norrie; you mustn't put yourself at such unease. I am still your friend" (but not your wife's, she thought privately) "And I do not intend to ever stop being so."  
  
Norrie - the term was endearing and if ever anyone had used it in her presence, before her marriage, at least, Elizabeth would have laughed her head off at him or her. Now, however, it seemed appropriate.  
  
The Commodore didn't seem to mind. He bent down to kiss Elizabeth's hand tenderly, somewhat too tenderly. She had a brief revelation at that moment and wondered if there was still something besides friendship still left for her in Norrington's heart.  
  
She pulled her hand away after he was finished.  
  
"I must go now," she said hastily. "Thank you ever so much for coming to my rescue today. It was quite a frightening ordeal and I would have surely been kidnapped again if it hadn't been for your arrival on the scene."  
  
Norrington smiled. "It was your maid who came and got me."  
  
"Oh?" said Elizabeth. "I told her to run, but I expected her to run to the house and not to the Naval commanders. How very amusing."  
  
"Well, I was walking along the market Square when she came by and when she told me about your predicament, and there were a few good soldiers standing idle at the corner stop so I made use of them."  
  
"You arrived just in time," Elizabeth marveled.  
  
"That is what we are for, Madame." He was still watching her with wistful eyes.  
  
"Thank you," Elizabeth said again, "I really must tend to Henry now." She made a hasty curtsey and bid the Commodore farewell before fleeing inside.  
  
Once she stood in the safety and silence of the white painted hall, Elizabeth leaned her head wearily back against the wall and closed her eyes. The euphoric pulsing of all her energy that had been slowly and gradually diminishing since her near-kidnap and her heartbeat was reduced to a dull rhythmic pounding in her ears. Suddenly she realized how tired she was.  
  
Estrella, who had heard the door as her mistress entered, came bustling down the hall to her uttering cries of sympathy and distress as she went.  
  
"Oh, ma'am! I am so thankful to see you safe!" she exclaimed as she clasped Elizabeth's weak hands in her own. "You must be exhausted!"  
  
Elizabeth looked up at her. "I am that," she said. Estrella shook her head like a worried matron.  
  
"You must rest," the maid chided. "Come; I'll get you some tea."  
  
"What about Henry?" Elizabeth asked.  
  
"The baby's fine ma'am, just fine. He's napping upstairs."  
  
Elizabeth sighed. "In that case," she said, "I might follow his example. Yes, Estrella; a cup of tea would be delightful." 


	8. His Dishonesty

JackSparrowsBooty: I think the reason this story wasn't reaching a lot of people is because the summary is pretty dull. I'm horrible at summaries, but then again; aren't most people? No excuse, I know. But I'm flattered that you like the fic and will try to update whenever possible

Silvaine: glad you like the story; thnx for reviewing!

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Elizabeth situated herself more comfortably in the great armchair and reached out to take the simmering cup of tea that Estrella handed her.  
  
"Oh, this is lovely," she commented. The maid smiled.  
  
"I can imagine you've had a hard day, miss." Estrella tucked a quilt around her mistress with almost motherly care.  
  
"Yes, I suppose," Elizabeth sighed, "But it is rather odd that both times I've been accosted by rogue Pirate Captains, Commodore Norrington had contrived to make suit to me in some way immediately before or after the incident."  
  
Estrella gave an interested gasp.  
  
"The Commodore made suit to you, ma'am?"  
  
"I'm quite sure he did just now, yes; but we mustn't speak of this to anyone but each other," said Elizabeth warningly. "It was just an incident between old friends anyway...I'm just dreadfully suspicious of the Commodore as a result."  
  
She reached over to stir her tea lazily. Estrella was lighting a fire in the grate and laughing a little at the poor Commodore a she did so. Outside, the clear blue sky of that day had slowly melted into a resplendent combination of purples and moody grays as the world sank into night.  
  
Elizabeth leaned forward onto the windowsill and propped her chin on her hands.  
  
"I wish something exciting would happen," she said softly to herself. Estrella, much too busy with the grate, did not hear her. The maid finished soon thereafter with the fire and approached Elizabeth with a sympathetic smile.  
  
"I'll leave you now, ma'am," she said. "If you need anything at all, I shall be in the kitchen."  
  
Elizabeth thanked her warmly. "I'll ring for you," she answered. Estrella situated the tea tray closer to Elizabeth's chair before leaving, quietly shutting the door behind her.  
  
The fire crackled merrily on the hearth and cast wavering beams of orange light around the room. Elizabeth turned back to the window. A dull ache had started in her chest as the pounding of her heart had subsided and instinctively she pressed her quilt closer in a nervous effort to stop the pain. It wasn't a hurt in the external sense, but a sort of agonizing pang that depressed her as it seemed to remind her of her adventure-less life.  
  
She was sick of worrying about it. She was tired of going over her predicaments every morning, noon and evening, and lingering in self-pity, as she did nothing to alleviate it.  
  
In a way, she was tired of being herself.  
  
Elizabeth flopped her head back against the chair back and closed her eyes. She felt so ungrateful, always complaining about everything. Will worked hard to make her life comfortable and the only thing she did was gripe. Of course, she never complained to his face - she had more pride than that. She refused to let him know just how unhappy she was, in words at least, and had resigned herself to living in perfect boredom and poverty.  
  
Will must have noticed something, by this time however. He was much quieter nowadays and he stayed at the blacksmith shop for far longer than he used to. Elizabeth did know that he was busy with that important project - something about a sword for the Governor's presentment in England - and had generally assumed that as the reason for his long working hours. It struck her suddenly that she was not even conscious of what her husband was doing every day. Was she that removed from his life?  
  
Elizabeth got up agitatedly from her chair and began milling around the room. If she didn't know simple things such as what her husband was doing with his time, then she must have just stopped asking him about it. Clearly he had stopped telling her, so she must have been unresponsive enough for him to do so.  
  
Suddenly she realized what a horrible wife she must be.  
  
Oh dear, she thought, sinking to the floor with a sudden insight and the return of the pain in her chest. What is happening to me?  
  
Of course her marriage wasn't falling apart. Of course it wasn't. It couldn't be. She'd change: she'd do anything. But, what could she do? Elizabeth's mind was a whirl of concentrated activity as she tried to focus. She could start repairing her broken relationship, she decided, by becoming more friendly, and perhaps talking with her faithful, uncomplaining spouse.  
  
"What will we talk about?" Elizabeth asked the fire miserably. She watched the crackling blaze for a moment, but it gave no answer. A little tear came to her eye and she wiped it away in shame. How terrible was it that she could not even think of something to talk to her husband about.  
  
She supposed she could tell him about her day because it was, after all, the most exciting thing to happen to her in three years. Naturally she would leave out the part about Norrington: Will might be upset about it. Elizabeth decided that she had better leave out the part about her kidnap as well...Will would probably rush out and strangle the errant Captain, and then where would they be? She could tell him the rest though.  
  
Brushing her hand through her hair in exasperation, Elizabeth realized that there was no 'rest' left to tell. She couldn't tell Will anything.  
  
Elizabeth wanted to cry but resisted the temptation. It was no use to shed tears over the matter, she determined.  
  
Somehow, her marriage had to be mended, and since it was her fault that it was broken in the first place, Elizabeth resolved that the emending was up to her alone.  
  
With this thought in mind, she stood up resolutely. She was about to open the door when a strange note lying on the desk caught her eye. Wondering, Elizabeth went slowly over to it and picked it up.  
  
It was a banknote.  
  
That's odd, Elizabeth thought. Will isn't normally paid in such.  
  
She looked closer at the paper, squinting to read the spidery handwriting on it in the dim light of the fire.  
  
"-- pounds," she read slowly, "Enough for a sword...let's see: paid to - Miss Estrella Hadgewood..."  
  
So it must be Estrella's wages, though, as far as she knew, Will never paid in banknotes.  
  
"...Care of William Turner..."  
  
_Care_ of William Turner? Why would it be in Will's care if he was supposed to be the purveyor of the bill? Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat as she read the signature at the bottom of the paper.  
  
Weatherby Swann.  
  
Elizabeth's hands began to tremble furiously and she dropped the note back onto the desk as if it were a repulsive rodent. She couldn't believe her eyes. The note was from her father...paying her maid's wages. He as the one person in the world who's help she least wanted and had denied for her entire marriage. Now, she discovered, he was paying her own servant. How long had he been funding her like that?  
  
Elizabeth's head hurt, and her heart hurt as well. She felt betrayed. So many times she had told Will that no matter how bad things got, they would not stoop to accepting the charity of her father. This decision had helped her get through her life, this comfort of being on her own, knowing that she was surviving with her husband's provision and not her father's. She had been so proud in her emancipation and now to know that it had all been a dream, that she really hadn't been doing anything on her own, was like a slap in the face.  
  
The banknote lay on the desk, her father's signature glaring back at her in the light of the fire. Elizabeth backed away.  
  
Downstairs she heard the front door swing open and Estrella's voice greeting Will as he returned from work. Elizabeth collapsed into the armchair and laid a cold hand over her eyes as she heard her husband ascend the stairs and walk the hall to their room. The doorknob twisted open as Will stepped into the bedroom looking grim and exhausted.  
  
He smiled when he saw Elizabeth, but the look quickly faded.  
  
"You're pale, Elizabeth," he said worriedly, running to her side. "Are you ill?" Elizabeth looked into his eyes accusingly, and suddenly began to cry.  
  
"Oh my God," said Will, trying to hug her but she pushed him away.  
  
"How could you!" she cried. "How could you do this?"  
  
Will surveyed her with a look of anxious incognizance. "What did I do?" he asked. Elizabeth flew at him.  
  
"You've been letting my father pay Estrella's wages!" she sobbed in despair. "After I've told you that he must not be allowed to meddle with our affairs!"  
  
It was Will's turn to grow pale. His eyes flickered to the offending note on the desk, then back to the trembling figure of his wife.  
  
"I did it," he explained, "Because we couldn't afford to do it ourselves. You've been so distressed lately that I thought without Estrella you would become too burdened."  
  
"Too burdened!" Elizabeth threw up her hands. "How long has my father been catering to our needs?"  
  
Will looked nervous. "Almost seventeen months," he replied.  
  
"And we couldn't afford to pay it ourselves?!"  
  
"Work wasn't so profitable as it used to be," Will explained, trying to take Elizabeth's hands. "I was at a loss for a while concerning the maid, but you're father stepped in just in time. I thought you wouldn't mind."  
  
"Of course I mind!" Elizabeth wailed. "It was one thing to let him help us like that, but you neglected even to tell me of it!" She turned away. "I had no idea that we had come into such dire straits as that."  
  
Will's arms fell to his sides and he felt his face grow hot.  
  
"Yes," he stated grudgingly. "We have."  
  
Elizabeth said nothing and continued to cry softly to herself. Will felt his pressure rise. It felt shameful for him to tell her that. He felt unworthy, as if he couldn't provide for her. What a fool he had been to accept Weatherby Swann's confounded offer.  
  
Realizing that Elizabeth was not going to talk to him, Will left the room. Downstairs he found Estrella in the kitchen playing with Henry who had just woken up from his nap.  
  
"How is she?" asked the maid with concern. Will looked at her.  
  
"She found out who pays your wages," he said in grim tones.  
  
"Is she very distressed?" asked Estrella bluntly. Will only nodded in reply. He reached over and rubbed his hand over Henry's little head before leaving the kitchen. Estrella picked up the baby and followed Will into the hall.  
  
"Where are you off to?" she inquired.  
  
"To the Smithy," he answered shortly, slinging his coat over his shoulder. "I don't know when I will be back." He turned out onto the street without another word, and Estrella bit her lip nervously. From the bedroom upstairs Elizabeth heard her husband leave. She resisted the urge to go to the window and watch him. Her heart was set against him for the present, and she could not make herself feel any emotion but anger.  
  
The least he could have done was to tell her that they had become too poor to pay. She would not have accepted this news well, but it would have been infinitely better than the pain she felt now in knowing that she had been deceived for one and half years.  
  
Elizabeth threw herself onto her bed and cried as though her heart had broken.


	9. Chapter Nine

Will pounded the welding hammer furiously down on the red-hot blade of a new sword, sending sparks flying in all directions. His temper was flaring, but a few menial tasks in the shop provided a welcomed relief. It was nice to be able to pound into something in order to mitigate his wrath, and Will was rather comforted in the knowledge that while he vented his feelings, a sword was being made in the process.  
  
It was a nice sword. Of course, it was nothing like the one for the Governor. In spite of his ire, Will cast a loving glance at the weapon lying in state on a table nearby, sheathed in a fine leather case. The Governor's sword had taken nearly a week to re-polish after that clumsy idiot customer had got it scratched among the metal shearings. Now, it was a magnificent sight to behold, and Will reminded himself with pride that it was undoubtedly the nicest weapon he'd ever created.  
  
The new sword, smoldering gently on an anvil, was the order made by the same audacious fellow who had damaged Will's masterpiece. Will had been quite incensed about putting time and effort into anything meant for that particular specimen of incivility, but his time was thankfully also his money, and Will expected to be well-paid for his work.  
  
He gave one last pound to the smoking blade and stepped back. It was finished now; all that was required at this time was to wait until it cooled and then fit a nice handle to it. It was simple really.  
  
Will milled about his shop organizing displays, fixing little projects that he hadn't had time for that day, and generally wasting his time, he felt. He wouldn't go home. Elizabeth was too angry with him, and he hadn't the heart to face her until he had created a believable alibi. Besides: he believed that they both needed a little time to cool their anger.  
  
He wasn't angry with his wife in any way - mostly just with her father for stepping in to their 'rescue.' Will was even angrier with himself for accepted Mr. Swann's accurséd proposal. Secretly he still wondered why Elizabeth refused to accept her father's money. She had said something about separation from her family - freedom in her own right or some such - but why on earth would she want that, he wondered. At least she had (part) of a family. He didn't have any at all.  
  
After so many years, however, he was past caring about that.  
  
Will licked his finger and touched the cooling blade quickly. It sizzled and smoked under his touch and immediately he drew away. The blade wouldn't be cooled for at least another hour.  
  
Filled with a sudden determination to be useful, Will decided to wait for the sword to cool. There were other things to do in the shop until that time, and if he managed to finish the sword before the night was done he might be able to get paid sooner.  
  
- - -  
  
Through the dark streets of Port Royal a small band of men came silently. Taking care not to be caught in the light, they moved covertly through the alleyways, talking in whispers if at all. The streets were devoid of people; most good citizens were asleep at this time of night and most bad ones were up at the tavern getting drunk. The way was clear.  
  
A swift beam of moonlight appeared from behind the clouds and glinted off the emerald eyes of the leader who hid his face deeper in his cloak.  
  
The group came to a halt in front of the Blacksmith Shop.  
  
"Is this the place?" asked the leader, his voice muffled from inside his mantle.  
  
"Aye," said the burly man beside him.  
  
Inside the shop, Will was putting the finishing touches on a small iron kettle. He held it up to the flame of the candle on the workbench and inspected it carefully for blemishes.  
  
"Excellent," he mumbled to himself, and laid the piece back down. With a yawn, Will stood up and stretched his arms.  
  
"Now for the sword."  
  
The door burst open and the band of men filed into the shop.  
  
Will recovered from his confusion and called out, "I'm sorry, but we're not open for business at this t -"  
  
"I've come for my sword," said the leader, stepping forward. Beside him, the burly man removed his own cape from in front of his face. Will recognized him as Caleb and scowled.  
  
"I'm sorry," Will told him angrily. "The swords' not finished. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I should have it ready by then."  
  
"We need it now," Caleb sneered back.  
  
"Well, it's not ready." Will was stubborn. "Look, gentlemen, I can't have people pushing their way into my shop like this. I told you already; we're closed. You'll have to leave now."  
  
The leader of the group reached down and picked up the Governor's sword from where it lay on the table.  
  
"Put that down," said Will irritably.  
  
The man paid no attention to him. "I want this one," he said evenly.  
  
"Well, you can't have that one." Will came forward to grab the weapon from the man's hands but was stopped by the handle of the sword which the stranger touched to his chin as he inspected him closer.  
  
"Are you...Mr. Turner?" the man asked in a low, eerie tone.  
  
Will backed away a little and straightened his shoulders uneasily. "I am."  
  
He saw Caleb and the stranger exchange significant glances. Caleb sneered again at Will, but the stranger withdrew over to the anvil where the other sword was lying.  
  
"What's this?" he asked sharply.  
  
"That's you're sword," Will told him. "I tell you, if you come back tomorrow I promise I'll have it finished for you."  
  
The stranger brushed his hand along the metal blade and compared it to the one that he held. "I can't wait until tomorrow," he said quietly.  
  
"You'll have to," said Will, becoming exasperated. "Look, Sir: You have to leave right now or I'll call the guards on you." The stranger looked up sharply.  
  
"I'm not afraid of your threat," he said. Looking down at the Governor's sword he announced calmly, "I'd like this sword right here."  
  
"Put it down now!" Will commanded. The stranger flicked it evenly out of the sheath and at the furious blacksmith.  
  
"No," he replied, "I don't want to. I know things about you, Mr. Turner; like, where you live. Believe me; you do not want me as your enemy. I think it would be best for you if you just stay calm, let me have this weapon, and simply go on with your business."  
  
Will stood still for a moment.  
  
"I'm afraid," he said fiercely, "That that is something I cannot do."  
  
With a sudden twist he dodged the sword that the stranger pointed at him and grabbed another from the stand nearby. Whipping it into the air he whirled back to fight his opponent but the latter was too quick for him. In a movement as quick as lightening, the stranger twirled the cooling blade from the anvil where it rested and shoved it cleanly through Will's shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind.  
  
The stranger removed the cloak from around his face and stared with a diabolical grin at Will. Shutter lids sheathed and unsheathed over the pair of glistening eyes and diamond-like pupils at the blacksmith who had collapsed in shock against the wall in a flurry of spasms.  
  
"I told you not to make me angry," he said mockingly. "You didn't listen. Perhaps you might have been more careful if I'd have told you that I also know where your wife is."  
  
Will let out a painful cry. His face was white and drawn with pain as he twitched on the blade impaled in his shoulder.  
  
"Don't do it," he begged. "I'll give you the sword...just don't harm my family."  
  
"A little late for that, don't you think?" the man said in derision. "You should have thought of that before this. Now, you are powerless to stop me; neither can you prevent me from taking these."  
  
He reached his hand into Will's front pocket and pulled out an iron key ring.  
  
"Now we won't have to break through the door," he said softly. He jingled the keys in front of Will's face before tossing them to Caleb as he turned away. He threw his cloak around his face again.  
  
"We're going," he commanded the rest of his men.  
  
Behind them, Will yelled again as he tried to pull the knife out of his flesh.  
  
"You monster!" he gasped, struggling limply against the wall. "You'll kill them!"  
  
"Kill them?" The Captain turned around incredulously. "Why would we kill them?" Will became sick and a look of horror mixed with the pain on his pale features.  
  
"No!" he cried. The Captain grinned and waved the Governor's sword in his direction as the group of men began to exit the shop.  
  
"Goodbye, Mr. Turner," Caleb said mockingly as he shut the door on Will's cries. 


	10. Capture

Elizabeth heard the sharp signal of the watchman up at the Fort - the striking of the bell to announce the turning of the hour.  
  
She turned her tear-stained face out of the window in mild incredulity.  
  
"Goodness me, is it already eleven?" she asked herself softly. She listened as the watchman continued to strike ten more peals, almost as if in response to her question.  
  
"It is late then."  
  
It mattered little to her. Her mind, still a quandary of confusion, had driven her into such a state that she had been forced to divert her thoughts deliberately to something else. Unfortunately, there hadn't been much else to turn to.  
  
After Will had left, a sort of gloomy silence had settled over the house. Elizabeth had stayed put in her room feeling quite depressed and helpless; she felt rather envious of her husband who at least had his shop as a place of retreat. She supposed that it was all fair in the end since she had the house, but she was always in the house and it was becoming tiresome.  
  
Estrella had come up after a while with more tea for Elizabeth, and to ask whether or not Henry should be put to bed. Elizabeth had been grateful for the maids' attention to her, but the feeling was soon embittered by the recollection of the banknote and the supplier thereof.

It was an intervention on the part of Mr. Swann that should not have been made or suggested. Elizabeth realized that Estrella would have to go, and despite her ire at her father, she both hoped for and feared the maid's departure. A little voice at the back of her mind tried to smooth the whole episode over, whispering for her to let Estrella stay under the providing hand of the ex-Governor. Elizabeth was so frightened that she might actually give in to this temptation that she would have sent the maid immediately from the house had it not been indecent to put her out on the streets at night. The transition would have to be made slowly, and in order to begin it Elizabeth had decided to put baby Henry to bed herself.  
  
That had been three hours ago.  
  
The fire in the grate, simmering in vain for a long while, had finally succumbed to its fate and lay dying now among a few smoldering embers. The air was close in the bedroom, sending perpetual waves of nausea through Elizabeth's head as she lay curled up in the big armchair.  
  
As the last ring of the watchman's bell faded away, the fire gave one last desperate spark. Elizabeth turned, groggy-eyed and tousled, to it, just in time to see it die completely. Taking this as a subtle hint of nature in order to get her out of the room, she dragged herself wearily from her chair and staggered to the door.  
  
The hallway was dark and completely silent. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and inhaled the air, marveling at the change in atmosphere and wondering how she had managed to survive in the smoky bedroom from whence she had come. Peeping over the banister, she detected a glimmering light from underneath the closed door of the kitchen at the foot of the stairs and guessed that Estrella was waiting up for her and Will.  
  
_No doubt reading in front of the fire_, Elizabeth thought, _Well it won't hurt for her to read much longer.  
_  
She turned away from the railing and continued down the way to Henry's room in order to check on him.  
  
---  
  
In the alley in front of the house, the same men who had left Will's shop only moments before now stood in a close group. Not a word was passed between them as they watched Caleb reach into his pocket and pull out the shiny set of keys that had so formerly belonged to the unfortunate blacksmith. The men smiled each in turn, their eyes sparking maliciously in expectation.  
  
Quietly, Caleb inserted one of the keys into the door. He turned it with painful slowness, grimacing with concentration as he endeavored to prevent any noises from issuing from the grating iron lock. His posse held their breaths as he completed a quarter turn. There was a slight click as the bolt receded in the door, and Caleb exhaled in relief.  
  
As subtle as the door had been, Estrella had heard it. Laying down her paper - the gossip page of the village Gazette - she got up from her rocker and padded over to the kitchen door for another listen.  
  
Then again. Another noise: this time, it was a slight creaking sound. Estrella wondered if it was Elizabeth. She listened for a second more, but no other sound met her ears as a follow up to the previous. It couldn't be Elizabeth. She would have come into the kitchen by now if it had indeed been she whom Estrella had heard.  
  
"Hello?" the maid called timidly. "Master Will? Miss Elizabeth?"  
  
---  
  
Elizabeth bent fondly over the sleeping figure of her son in the crib and planted a soft kiss on his hair.  
  
_Still sleeping_, she thought in relief.  
  
Henry pursed his eyebrows in his dreams, but did not wake. Elizabeth noticed Henry's blanket crumpled in a discarded heap at his feet. With a small sigh and a look of motherly knowing, she picked up the article and laid it gently back over the baby.  
  
_Such innocence_, she reflected. _He cannot know or care of the strife of his parents_.  
  
In a manner, she envied him.  
  
Feeling a little more contented though, after the picture of such naïve slumber, Elizabeth went silently out into the hall and closed the door to Henry's room carefully so as not to wake him. She smiled a little as she turned around.  
  
Like a scream in her ears, her heart convulsed as she found herself face to face with one of the ugliest men she had ever seen. Wicked eyes glared at her from the tattooed, weather-beaten face surrounded by tangles of dirty hair.  
  
"'Ello, Pretty," the figure sneered.  
  
Elizabeth tried to scream but a large, evil smelling hand was thrust over her mouth before she could finish the attempt. Men were all around her, hidden by cloaks and hats, pressing in at her wrists and body. She felt the rough scrape of rope at her arms and the hand on her face was loosened ever so slightly.  
  
In the mess of things, she didn't even stop to think.  
  
With a wild twist, Elizabeth jerked free of her captors and went sailing around the banister onto the stairs. The men leapt after her, but she went fast, taking two steps at a time.  
  
There were more pirates waiting for her at the foot of the staircase. She saw a group of them in the kitchen, holding a struggling Estrella - the maid was gagged, and her face was deathly white. Elizabeth gasped in terror and the pirates began to rush at her.  
  
In desperation, she whipped around only to remember that they were chasing her from that direction as well. Time seemed to slow and Elizabeth saw only motions and shapes as her mind went helplessly blank. She cast one final glance at Estrella in the kitchen.  
  
_I'm sorry_, she mouthed to the maid, though she didn't know quite why.  
  
From behind, Elizabeth felt her captors catch up with her. That hand was once again slapped over her mouth and nose as the men slipped a thick cord around her wrists. The pirates grouped about her. She kicked them, and writhed furiously, but it was of no avail.  
  
Caleb, leaning cockily against the doorframe of the kitchen, was watching the ordeal with a look of mild amusement.  
  
"She's a feisty one all right," called one of the pirates with a grin. Caleb nodded.  
  
"Yeah, but we can't 'av 'er be'havin' like this on the way to the ship or we'll be an hour in comin'," he pointed out. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and a small bottle.  
  
"Are we to use that?" Derk called from the kitchen where he kept a firm grip on Estrella's left arm.  
  
Caleb nodded again and poured a little of the liquid from the bottle out into the center of the handkerchief. From her place on the stairs, Elizabeth looked up at him. Her eyes flashed wildly as he brought the handkerchief close to her. With one last frantic effort, she aimed her foot and kicked Caleb in the shin as hard as she could manage.  
  
Caleb cried out in shock.  
  
"Damn you," he swore angrily. Ignoring the handkerchief in his palm, he raised his other arm and backhanded Elizabeth over the side of her face.  
  
Her vision went blank and she knew no more.  
  
"Out cold," Caleb grimaced, cradling his shin. "That'll teach her."  
  
"Aye," murmured one of the pirates. "But won't the Cap'n have yer neck far it?"  
  
Caleb glared at the man, and the latter fell silent.  
  
The pirates lifted Elizabeth's limp body and dragged her off the stairs and down the entryway out of the house. Estrella was squirming wildly in the kitchen, and she was emitting shrieking noises as loud as she could over the gag in her mouth.  
  
"What should we do with this one?" Derk asked anxiously.  
  
Caleb scanned the hall quickly and his eyes lit on another door, which he opened. It led to the cellar.  
  
"Put 'er in 'ere," he commanded. The pirates dragged Estrella forward to the cellar door and Calebs' feet.  
  
He bent down and looked into her scared face.  
  
"If you scream," he told her calmly, "We'll kill your mistress." Estrella's eyes went as round as saucers and immediately she became submissive. The pirates hurled her down the small flight of steps into the cold basement and slammed the door, leaving her in complete darkness.  
  
"Lock it," Caleb said. He tossed the keys to Derk who promptly obeyed.  
  
The group filed out into the night bearing Elizabeth's body. Around them, Port Royal was still quiet. No one had woken to the rescue, because there had been no sounds to alert them. Caleb chuckled at his accomplishment and beckoned for his men to follow him. There were boats on the shore, waiting for them to come. They had to go silently, and Caleb knew that there wasn't much time.  
  
In the harbor, Wilde's ship was lingering in ominous expectation for the prize that they brought.


	11. Chapter Eleven

For you lovely people who reviewed chapter nine (JackSparrowsBooty and Aleviel): Thank you SO much for reviewing...sorry I didn't credit you on the last entry!

CrazeeI: hehe! i'm glad you liked it. This story is like my baby and I love when people complement it!

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Will laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.  
  
He was exhausted. Sweat was streaming down his face through his hair, which was now almost completely drenched, and the muscles in his forehead twitched nervously with every heartbeat. He could feel his body turning cold starting at the tips of his fingers and toes.  
  
He was trembling from the icy pain that stretched itself in tendrils over his upper body from the point at which the blade still impaled him. His shoulder had gone completely numb from the shock and intensity of the pain.  
  
He'd been pinned to the wall for one long hour, dwelling in the shock of his wound and the trepidation he felt for his family, knowing they were in danger. Will had tried desperately to pull the sword out of his shoulder. He'd tried pulling it gradually, then harder, then even yanking at it as much as he could bear, but Wilde had driven it very deep into the wall and it could not be moved. Now Will's hands were a mess of jagged and bloody cuts from grabbing the blade.  
  
After a while he had given up his attempt to free himself. The sword refused to budge, and Will was weak from loss of blood and growing steadily worse as time passed. He remained in a calamitous state of mind, shaking not only from the agony of his wound but from fear and anger at not being able to defend his unknowing and unassuming family from the black-hearted pirates.  
  
Will thought mostly of Elizabeth. Their last words had not been the most well meant - and now he wondered if he would ever see her again. She had been the girl he had loved since the day he had been rescued from the sea and placed in her care as a child. God only knew how much he yearned for her now, to know that she was safe...  
  
Will cursed pirates. He had been right to want to kill them in those days before the Black Pearl and Barbossa. How or why he had ever decided to become one was a mystery to him now. Piracy was lunacy, and good people tended to get hurt by them most often. Besides, he comforted himself; he wasn't really a pirate after all. He had no ship, no crew, no ties to the pirate culture besides his father who had left his family to follow the accursed trade - but even this failed to comfort Will. Denying his past would bring about no good end.  
  
There might not be a future for him. The outlook was bleak indeed, especially from the middle of a badly welded sword-blade which Will was beginning to feel wasn't as smooth as he had formerly supposed.  
  
But was a future, without Elizabeth.  
  
Will gave another gasp as his shoulder jerked convulsively. He could feel the life slipping from him and realized that if he didn't free himself from his imprisonment immediately then all hope would be lost.  
  
He eyed the part of the blade that protruded from his shoulder and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around it. His left hand was limp and lifeless due to so great a loss of blood and would be of no use in the attempt that he was going to make. Closing his eyes in a moment of preparation Will tightened his grip on the blade. With an agonizing cry as the metal bit into his already ensanguined flesh, he pulled hard at the sword, bracing his body against the wall as he strained to liberate himself from his fell constrain.  
  
The sword creaked mightily in the wood of the wall, but moved hardly an inch. Will fell back, completely debilitated from his efforts, and resigned himself to his fate.  
  
Suddenly the door of the shop flew open and Estrella came whirling into the shop in a flurry of tears.  
  
"Master Will!" she screamed. "Oh, what have they done?!"  
  
Will's eyes shot open.  
  
"Estrella!" he cried, "Where's Elizabeth?"  
  
"Oh Master Will," Estrella sobbed, wringing her hands into her apron. "They've taken her! They've taken her to their ship!"  
  
Will flopped his head back. The pirates had got his wife. Suddenly, Will was filled with a grim and terrible resolve.  
  
"Help me, Estrella," he commanded. The maid blinked her red eyes. "How shall I do it?" she blubbered piteously. Will shook his head.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Estrella was not exceedingly bright, but now with the attack and the kidnap of her beloved mistress and mistreatment of her master, she was determined to be of use. Noticing an ax lying in the corner she seized upon it and brought it to Will.  
  
"I shall have to cut you out of there," she whimpered, brandishing the weapon menacingly in front of her. Will eyed it warily, then decided that since he had the choice of dying slowly on the blade or dying quickly with an ax to the skull (and some small chance of survival), he would choose the latter and risk it.  
  
Estrella swung the ax above her head and brought it down with a crack next to Will. He flinched as she repeated the action again and again until he was free. Only a small piece of wood clung to the blade.  
  
Will fell weakly to the floor.  
  
"The blade is still in your shoulder," Estrella murmured anxiously. Will nodded.  
  
"You'll have to take it out," he said. The maid gasped.  
  
"I couldn't!" she cried. "I couldn't do that!"  
  
Will was solemn. His face was now so pale it resembled the color of a bedsheet and his body was soaked in cold sweat.  
  
"You have to," he said. "I'll die if you don't."  
  
Estrella wrung her hands again and sobbed woefully into her apron. Will waited patiently, and after a moment the maid emerged looking calmer and more composed.  
  
"I'll do it now," she said waveringly.  
  
"Take the leather gloves on the fireplace," Will instructed, gesturing weakly to the articles. Estrella put them on and went to stand behind Will who had dropped dejectedly to his knees with a look of extreme concentration.  
  
"Grab the blade," Will ordered her. She did so. Will winced a little as the sword moved diagonal in his shoulder.  
  
There was a moment of complete silence as both people prepared themselves.  
  
"Pull!" Will shouted. Estrella pulled. She braced her knee against her master's back and tugged at the blade as hard as she could. Will screamed in a shudder of agony as the metal knife cut through his shoulder again to fit its wider end in its emergence.  
  
Estrella screamed with him as she gave one last defiant yank at the blade, pulling it out at last from Will's suffering body. She lifted the weapon high with a mixture of triumph and disbelief at her own daring as Will collapsed in a senseless heap on the floor.


	12. In the Hands of the Enemy

Danielle Z: I'm glad you liked the story so much! Here's more, and I've got another chapter following close by.

Dead-Girls-Watch: (blushes) Thanks

pantpie: Actually, I didn't get the word effulgent from BtVS, but thanks for paying close attention to details like that ;) ! I'm glad you like the fic so far.

Kristi: Yes, yes: I was just coming to it. _Very_ soon, as a matter of fact

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A/N: As always, reviews are MUCH appreciated. Thanks again to all who reviewed my previous chappies...and don't forget to review this one, all! Please, good or bad - I need your comments!

And now on to the twelfth installment of this story. I am very proud of it. Not to pompous ... but proud.

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Elizabeth woke up with a start. For a moment she lay there, wondering what had happened.

Then she remembered.

_Pirates_.

Elizabeth shot upright, gasping a little as her heart skipped a beat, and looking wildly around. She was in a fancy ships' berth. The chestnut wooden walls were lined with gilt tracery and hung with a few small lanterns. The back wall, to Elizabeth's right as she sat there, was quite long, and was spread from corner to corner with windows of twelve panes. The panes were small and thick and curved slightly outward, and through them Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the sea.

With a small cry she rushed to the window and knelt fervently at the long hard seat that protruded out from under the sill. Pressing her nose hard against the glass, she peered out at the scenery around her.

There was nothing but ocean water for as far as she could see.

"Oh no," Elizabeth moaned, letting her hands slide dejectedly down the panes. "Not again."

She been captured once before, but it had been her own fault. If she hadn't taken the pirate medallion from Will, then she might not have met Barbossa or his loathsome crew. Somehow she had gotten out of it end... All the pirates had wanted was the medallion - and a little blood - but it had all been resolved: now Elizabeth hardly dared to wonder what it was she had been captured for this time. It seemed that there was no hope for her for now she had no medallion. There was another fear lurking at the back of her mind, presenting itself menacingly as another possible fate for her aboard the ship, but she pushed it away hastily.

The door of the berth opened and Derk walked in. He was bearing a plate of food that looked unfamiliar but smelled strongly of fish. Elizabeth remembered the pirate from the night before and backed defensively up against the window.

"You's awake then?" Derk inquired as he slapped the plate down on a table nearby. Elizabeth didn't answer, but graced him with a withering stare.

"Awri'ght, awri'ght; don't give me that look," the pirate commented in retort. "You'll be happy enough within days I can 'spect." Elizabeth raised a dignified eyebrow. "Either way, I'm to tell you to come up to the deck for an' to speak wif tha Cap'n."

"I shall do no such thing," said Elizabeth sharply.

Derk surveyed her thoughtfully.

"Wall," he remarked, "I did have a threat for ta make ya on account of yer turnin' down the Cap'n's requests, but dontcha think you could save me time by jess comin along now?"

Elizabeth pondered this proposal momentarily. She remembered a similar situation aboard the Black Pearl - turning down Barbossa's request and getting threatened then too - and decided that it might be worthwhile to make things easier, or quicker, by just obeying Derk's commands.

She inhaled slowly and carefully.

"Alright," Elizabeth accepted evenly. "I'll come."

Derk nodded his head and took it all with ease as if it was a regular thing for him to deal with stubborn prisoners. Elizabeth did not doubt that it was. The pirate motioned casually to the food, which was now blossoming off an acrid stench and rapidly permeating the air of the cabin, and asked her if she intended to eat it.

"No," said Elizabeth firmly.

Derk nodded again and swung the cabin door open wide to allow Elizabeth first passage out.

The latter hesitated. "You're not going to tie my hands or hinder me from escaping or anything like that?" she asked timidly.

"Nawp," said Derk cheerfully. "Cap'n says ta tell ya thar's fearsome sharks abroad and jumping from a fast sailing ship into them waters will not be in yer best interests." Elizabeth was stunned into silence.

She followed Derk out on deck. The bright high morning sun hit her face pleasantly, and for a brief moment she reveled in the fresh scent of the salty sea air. The wind was full in the sails and the ship surged over the waters with a bounding intent only known and recognized by seafaring folk. Elizabeth felt it immediately and was privately thrilled. It had been ages since she had last been sailing and, despite the grim situation, Elizabeth felt rather adventurous being out at sea once again.

Taking her eyes off of the masts and sky, she turned back to the deck and found herself the subject of many a glance.

"Ruddy pirates," she thought, color coming to her cheeks as she thrust her head into the air and marched proudly after Derk.

Her guide did not stop to help her up the small narrow stairway that led to the upper deck, but she found it easy enough to do it by herself with the realization that she would have refused his help if he had offered it. On deck, the coxswain eyed her grimly as he fiddled with the ships' wheel. Elizabeth ignored him, searching her surroundings instead for the audacious Captain.

Wilde stood with his back to the bow, facing off into the retreating sea left churning behind his ship. He wore a brocade coat as he always did, and a large hat with a floppy three-cornered brim. His dark hair twisted out behind him in the billowing breeze.

Derk approached him from the back and murmured something into his ear in low tones. Elizabeth stood by, watching curiously and straining to catch a word of the conversation as she hovered uncomfortably near the exit of the deck. The conversation was not a long one, however, and with a nod from the Captain, Derk took off onto the lower deck in humble obeisance.

Elizabeth watched him go with feelings of mingled curiosity and despair knowing that now she must inevitably face the captain whom she had been dreading since he assaulted her in the alley. She had no actual proof that the pirate she had met in the alley was at all the same Captain she stood ready to meet, but her instincts pointed to that conclusion.

He had one hand resting carelessly on the railing, but as he turned he clasped it and his other behind his back. Elizabeth's heart sped up again with a nervous diagonal leap.

The captain's eyes met hers.

"Hello Mrs. Turner," he said.

Elizabeth took a shaky breath and squared her shoulders resolutely. She said nothing, only glared at her captor with a look that would have sent any weak-heart crawling away in distress. The captain, however, was unperturbed. He sauntered toward her, hands still behind his back, and his head cocked slightly as he looked her over.

"I do apologize for your treatment by my crew," he said in a low and almost seductive tone. Elizabeth shivered.

"Your apologies mean nothing to me," she hissed between clenched teeth. "A brute such as yourself could never feel anything so humane as remorse."

One look into his eyes had revealed his identity to Elizabeth as the pirate from the Alley back at Port Royal, and this knowledge did not lessen her apprehension. Indeed she felt her fear grow and flourish inside her. Silently she asked herself why it had to be this one pirate out of all the others who had captured her, feeling that she would have taken any of them over him.

The captain came closer.

Elizabeth could smell his scent; a light odor of wood and tar clung to the fibers of his jacket, mixed with a hint of musk. She cringed.

"Why have you brought me here?" she demanded to know.

The Captain looked slightly taken aback as if he hadn't expected a lady to be so bold. Elizabeth herself felt that considering the circumstances, she had no reason to behave politely, especially on a Pirate ship. As far as she was concerned, social mores ended at the boarding plank.

"Does a Pirate require a reason, my lady?" Wilde was inquiring.

Somehow, Elizabeth felt that this wasn't the answer she had been looking for.

"Couldn't you ... invent one?" she asked helplessly, and was rewarded with a forebearing smile from Captain Wilde. Elizabeth felt a little snubbed, as if she was a child who needed to be curbed and have everything explained to her in large print lettering.

"My reason will be," began the Captain softly, "That in all my years of sailing, and in all the lands of this world, I have never seen any woman more beautiful than yourself."

Elizabeth started violently, as if she had been struck. Indeed, his words did strike disgust in her heart, and the effect resonated to her very soul. The idea that her beauty had resulted in this current predicament made her flesh crawl. It could not be her fault: no, she would never believe that. And yet...the thought began to haunt her.

She flinched again when Wilde took her hand. He was quite close to her now, so close that she could feel his breath on her face, and an impulsive shiver ran down her spine.

The Captain's face was nearing hers. In an instant, Elizabeth realized that he was going to kiss her. She could think of nothing more horrible than to be kissed by her captor, and such a captor as Wilde was. Regardless of his suavity he was still a dirty great Pirate who had abducted her and forced her to come aboard his ship - all for purely selfish reasons.

Elizabeth jerked her hand out of Wilde's grasp and drifted quickly over to the railing at the back of the ship.

"That's not a reason," she fluttered hastily, returning to the last comment. Not that he had to give her any at all. She was his prisoner and had no right to demand anything. It was rather unfair.

"What's not a reason?" Wilde wondered aloud. "That you're the most ravishing female I've ever met?" Elizabeth's cheeks grew hot. She heard the clinking of Wilde's boots on the boards of the deck as he approached her again.

"It may be a bit difficult to understand," the Captain began slowly, "But I'm not lying to you."

Ever so slowly he stole up behind her and gently passed his hands up to the nape of her neck. Elizabeth bent slightly forward, involuntarily pressing herself more tightly to the railing in an attempt to avoid his touch. Wilde seemed not to notice as he continued to stroke his thumb over the smooth skin beneath her hairline at the back of her neck. His hands moved in slow, seductive caresses over he shoulders and down her arms. Elizabeth's stomach clenched as the Captain pressed a gentle kiss to her hair and another at her jawline under her ear. She willed herself to remain immobile and unnattuned to him, to be still and cold when the Captain clearly begged for her response. Briefly she wondered how many women had swooned under such caresses, and how many had been forced to endure them just as she was now. Elizabeth felt ill.

She gritted her teeth.

"Unhand me," she commanded. Wilde's grip on her throat tightened ever so slightly at the request. Elizabeth felt the bristles of his scant beard against her ear as he leaned in to her.

"Unhand you?" he asked, his voice full of mockery. For a fleeting instant Elizabeth recognized fury on her part as an unwise idea and was bewildered with an answer. Wilde's derision made her face flush pink, and she bit her lip unhappily.

It would plainly do no good to be demanding with him: Wilde was a pirate and appeared to have all of the bad qualities so commonly attributted to those in his line of occupation. It was apparent to her that if the Captain was antagonized the advances would surely not cease, and if worse came to worse he might even force her. Elizabeth remembered the tales of Blackbeard and went very cold.

Demanding would not do. But then, what options did she have?

Ah yes.

She would be ladylike. If anything would soften the heart of a pirate - or at least delay his intentions for a good safe while - it was to be a lady. A Charming Lady. A _cunning_ lady.

A lady could say anything, truth or no, and according to popular belief it must be believed by all. A charming lady could lie herself in and out of any situation if she was skilled enough.

Instantly, Elizabeth assumed weakness. It was not difficult: she'd had a child before and knew weakness like the back of her hand. She drooped a little and tried to look pale as she brought her hand delicately to her forehead. Turning to Wilde, slowly, and dropping her gaze in modest acquiescence, Elizabeth tried her expirement.

"I'm not feeling well I'm afraid," she said, deliberately making her voice low and husky. She inhaled in graceful slowness. "The rocking of the ship ... it is making me ill." Elizabeth closed her eyes seductively and laid a trembling hand on her bodice, the other to her chest and throat. _Well done,_ she congradulated herself. _You would make a fine actress_.

Wilde looked at her. Silently Elizabeth prayed that her excuse would work because she knew that she hadn't any other magic to work on her behalf, short of casting herself overboard to drown. Luckily, Wilde immediately dropped his impetuity and readopted his normal debonair.

"Of course," he said, and Elizabeth inhaled in silent gratefulness. "You've probably never been aboard a ship before."

Elizabeth nodded fervently.

"I've been in Port Royal all my life," she swore, carrying the story further. "I've never been ... wealthy enough ... to afford a trip aboard a sailing vessel of any kind beside the simple rowboat that belonged to - " Elizabeth stopped. She had been about to say, "- my husband," but was afraid that it might take Wilde's mind off of her pretended illness. There was a ghost of a smile playing about his lips as he watched her, but to her relief he hadn't even noticed her abnormal pause.

"I daresay you'll find my ship to be quite different than a rowboat, madame," he said proudly. "I will permit you to return below deck, and back to your berth - but only on one condition."

"Yes" asked Elizabeth breathlessly.

Wilde looked her straight into her eyes.

"You must join me for dinner," he bargained softly. Before she could reply he cut her off. "That's not really a proposal, Mrs. Turner. It's a command."

Elizabeth nodded as quickly as she dared. Behind Wilde, Derk had appeared and stood waiting to take her away.

"You will be escorted to my table at the proper time," Wilde continued. He reached over and gently took the hand that she unconsciously offerred him.

"Until tonight," he said, bending over to kiss the back of her palm. Elizabeth averted her eyes and hastened away down the steps and into the cabin to her berth. It wasn't until Derk had locked the door on her that she exhaled and realized that she had been holding her breath. Flinging herself on the bed in the corner, Elizabeth wept a little in despair. It all seemed so hopeless. At first she had dared to think that Will would come to her rescue, but he had no ship at his command. Not even her father had that luxury now that he had relinquished his gubnatorial duties. There wasn't anyone to help her now and it hit her like a rock to think that she might never see her family again.

The tears were falling fast now. Elizabeth struggled to wipe them away. How motherhood had weakened her, she thought. And how much would she give now just to be home again.

Wilde joined his first mate at the wheel where the latter was watching the coxswain on duty.

"Lower the sails, topgallant and foremast," the Captain ordered calmly, "I want us far out of British territory by nightfall." He paused to allow his orders to be shouted to the crew on the lower deck.

"Aye sir - we'll be nye out of reach o' the king before that," the First Mate promised with a cracked grin that displayed a partial row of tobacco-stained teeth. Wilde hissed at him to retreat which the First hastened to do, bowing his head a little lower before authority. Wilde looked back out into the distant sea ahead and pulled his hat down further in an effort to shield his eyes against the searing three o' clock sun that glistened above them.

"We'll reach Tortuga nye midnight," he said leeringly.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

To my Reviewers: Thank you SO much! I remember each and every one of you

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**------------------------------------------------------Chapter Thirteen**

Will came to consciousness with the onset of a vicious wave of nausea. His head was swimming and his eyes, sore and prickling, were wet around the lids. The air around him was hot and somewhat sticky, clinging to his equally sweaty body and making him quite uncomfortable. Gingerly he raised his right hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. When his vision had finally cleared, Will was shocked to see not the rough boards of the smithy ceiling, but the ornately gilded plaster work of a fancy English mansion.

In his consternation, he blinked and his eyes began to smart as a result. Quickly he tried to rise but was deterred by the jab of sharp pain that shot through his entire left side. Will fell still on the soft pillows around him and gritted his teeth against the pain. With his right arm he reached across his chest and laid a trembling hand on his wounded left shoulder, shocked to find that it had been bandaged.

The events of the previous night were only a disquieting blur in his mind, but now, waking to find himself in such unusual surroundings, he was not so sure that the interlude with the pirates had taken place only the night before. He could have been asleep for days. The room in which he now found himself was most certainly not a dream for the intense pain he felt was a tribute moreover to a harsher reality.

Will adjusted himself in order to inspect his surroundings. he was lying in a great French poster bed hung with heavy brocaded curtains of a soft pastel green color, and surrounded by folds of clean Irish linen and feather pillows. The floor of the room was in slats of polished rosewood and covered in almost entirety by a thick, lavish Indian carpet also done in light pastel hues and threaded with gold to match the bed hangings. In the great marble fireplace at the foot of the room, a bright fire crackled and sent rosy light dancing all over the walls. It provided the only light in the place, and through its aid Will could make out the presence of two great windows set in the wall to his right, both closely swathed in curtains that matched those of the bedstead.

"Where am I?" Will wondered aloud.

As if in answer to his question, the double French doors at the far end of the room creaked open and Estrella bustled in. She brightened when she saw Will, who in turn was so shocked that he nearly fell off the bed.

"You're awake, Sir!" the maid cried, clearly relieved. She came quickly over to him where he lay in confusion and a tangle of blankets and tenderly propped and fluffed the pillows under his head. Will watched her and felt somehow that something wasn't at all right.

"How are you feeling?" she inquired, laying a cool hand to his heated forehead. Will reacted to her touch, and calmed a little at the atmospheric relief it brought to his mind. He looked up at her.

He wanted to ask her why she was there; he wanted to ask her why he was not still lying, maimed, on the Smithy floor. He wanted to know who had brought him to this unusual place, and more importantly, he wanted to know what this place was. In between all of these mental qualms his mind kept turning to the one question that nagged him above all: where was Elizabeth. Vaguely he remembered Estrella saying something about his wife, but every memory of yesterday's events was hardly solid in Will's brain. Will opened his mouth, but no sound came. He tried once more, but no words made themselves available and he fell silent once more. Finally...

"Estrella," he croaked weakly. The maid bent down to him concernedly.

"Sir?"

Will searched her face, anxiously trying to put his thoughts to words. "Where am I?" He gripped the maids' arm urgently. "Where's Elizabeth?"

To his dismay, Estrella began to cry.

"She's gone!" she whispered. "They took her with them! Don't you remember, I told you about it when I found you..."

Will's pallid face blanched further. "Pirates?"

Estrella nodded and wiped her eyes with her apron. Will felt his heart grow cold, and suddenly he felt very ill. The pirates had taken his Elizabeth - his beautiful Elizabeth. He felt that he could have survived anything, but they had taken his wife and in her the last treasure he had. Somehow they must have figured that a man's family is his greatest possession and had split it down the middle knowing that by attacking it they were destroying his confidence and security. Now alone, and in pain, Will was at such a loss. He would look for Elizabeth, that much was certain, even if he had to go to the ends of the earth to do it. It didn't matter so long as there was some small chance of finding her. If only he could know if she was safe.

Estrella was still crying.

"How did it happen?" asked Will quietly. "The abduction; how did they do it?"

Blubbering blustfully, the maid recounted the tale with chilling words, her voice trembling as she described Elizabeth's struggle, and the cowardice of the pirates in taking an unarmed woman, and a mother at that. By the time Estrella had finished, Will was livid with rage and disgust.

"Cowards," he said through gritted teeth. "Filthy stinking cowards, to abduct and assault a defenseless woman. What was their price, that they would go through so much for one prisoner?" Privately, he wondered why they did not also take Estrella: if they had been slave traders then they would have taken both women in the house, knowing that two was better than one.

Both Will and Estrella knew the answer to the spoken question, and neither felt the confidence to utter it. Will would have gone to hell and back for Elizabeth, not only because he was her husband, and he had told her so many times. He would have died for her. She seemed to have that effect on men.

Now he could only assume that Captain Wilde had fallen under that same spell that had first captured Will all those years ago when he had first seen her, waking up after floating forever on a plank of wood in the sea and seeing her looking down at him like an angel.

"I must get up," Will decided in a low voice. He raised himself onto his right arm through a series of short, staccatic attempts, all of it only with tremendous effort. Estrella watched him fearfully, but did not dissuade him.

Finally, the pain in his body too much to bear, he fell back against the pillows with a cry, utterly exhausted.

"Curse my shoulder, the wound hurts me terribly," Will grimaced, gingerly massaging his left arm. The maid did not hesitate. Gently she bent forward and put Will's good arm around her neck to assist him as he struggled to sit up. He was breathing hard for the pain and his jaw was clenched tight, but he did not complain. Estrella put her arm around his back as he rose from the bed and into an upright position. Will stopped to rest a little, letting his feet touch the carpet and waiting for his head to clear and the pain in his upper body to subside.

Suddenly Will tightened his grip on Estrella's shoulder.

"Where's Henry?" he demanded to know, his voice creased with fear and fatherly concern. He stared wildly into Estrella's eyes, but she shushed him gently.

"The baby is safe," she told him, "He is here, not five rooms down he hall."

Will nodded, then inhaled sharply as another flame shot through his shoulder.

"And where - " he gasped through gritted teeth, " - is here?"

Estrella bit her lip but was saved from answering as one of the bedroom doors was canted and Weatherby Swann stepped in. The former Governor seemed older and more tired than Will remembered him having ever been. He still wore his gray wig, but it sat less proudly on his aging frame and his body seemed to bend under the weight of it. His eyes were drooping at the corner now more than ever, giving him the look of someone who was distinctly unhappy. Will would have felt sorry for the man if he did not harbor such an ardent dislike of him already through years of Elizabeth's suffering at his seemingly condescending treatment of her.

Now he seemed to notice that Will had woken for he paused in his approach.

There was a very pregnant pause.

"You brought me to _his _house?" Will demanded furiously, turning to Estrella, who quivered.

"Don't be angry Sir," she hastened to say. "It was the best place I could think of. I didn't do it alone, sir. _He _helped me." Estrella glanced approvingly at Will's father-in-law who was shifting uncomfortably on spot. Weatherby Swann turned a brilliant crimson and received a bewildered look from his daughter's errant husband.

"You?" asked Will in shock.

Weatherby Swann pulled dangerously at the lace in the mouth of his sleeve, a habit he had when he was nervous.

"Ah - perhaps we had better overcome - ah - discuss this in the parlor," he angled wisely. "Estrella, help my son-in-law: I trust he is capable of moving there with your he - "

"I'm quite capable, thank you," Will hissed at him.

"Of course you are," Weatherby interposed hurriedly. "I'll call for a bit of tea." He turned and fled without further ado.

Estrella glanced down at Will who's arm had slipped from around her neck.

"Shall I help you sir?" she inquired. Will was looking into the fire. His hand moved to his useless left shoulder as if he was thinking about it. Estrella watched him as he sat there, his handsome, boyish features flecked with the golden firelight and his eyes reflecting liquid flames, and had a thought of her own. Will looked so very attractive, and sad. She wasn't quite sure but that Elizabeth had not treated him at his full worth. As a servant, this was none of her business, but still she worried. Estrella cared more than ever about this small, three-person family whom she had been hired to serve, and it rent her heart knowing that even with Elizabeth safe at home the strain between all three was being pulled at the seams. Silently she prayed that for all the heartbreak her mistress's abduction had caused, perhaps it would serve to bring everyone that much closer to each other in the end.

Finally Will sighed and glanced up at her.

"You can help me," he said, with an air of defeat. Estrella smiled and helped him to put his arm about her neck once more.

Slowly Will pressed his feet against the ground as he shifted his weight onto them from the bed. His breathing came harsher as he rose, laboriously, clenching Estrella's shoulder in a grip of death. The blood flow from his head into his shoulder was painful and sent him reeling, causing the maid to use every bit of strength in her in order to steady him. In the struggle to stand, Will had broken out in a slight sweat that left little beads clinging to his forehead. Estrella wiped them away with the corner of her apron.

"There you are sir," she said soothingly. "Are you feeling all right?"

Will grimaced.

"Yes," he managed, but Estrella noticed in alarm that his face was much paler than it had been moments before. His features were drawn up as he struggled against the pain.

"Are you sure?" she asked, but Will nodded briskly.

"Yes, yes, dammit; I'm quite all right."

Estrella bit her tongue guardingly, but continued to support her master as he endeavored to walk over to the bedroom door. It was an intense few minutes that followed, with the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire, and by Will's sharp breaths as he maintained his movement. Estrella wrapped a firm hand around Will's back to guide him as she waited patiently for him to take each step.

Will had only one objective, and that was to find his father-in-law. He was determined to throw himself into the fray and recover what had been stolen from him. He felt that he had been ill too long, whether he had been lying there in that bed for a night or for seven nights, and now he knew that it was time for him to rise and be well. To be incapacitated because of a sword wound was ridiculous; he was a man and should be able to take such things. One fact did remain, and it was that no sword wound he had ever had had been quite this terrible. Any clean cut to the shoulder should have healed right up and pained him no more; this one had not only failed to begin the healing process, but had worsened and become a thousand times more painful.

"Estrella," Will panted as he collapsed against the cool papered wall outside of the bedroom. "Why isn't my shoulder any better? By all accounts, it should have closed."

The maid shook her head. "I don't know, sir. I wasn't present when the doctor visited you."

"There was a doctor?" asked Will incredulously. "Who paid for that I wonder?"

Estrella looked at him out of the corner of her eye before looking guiltily down at her hands. "Mr. Swann paid, sir."

Will didn't even argue. Weatherby Swann could pay for anything he liked. . . Elizabeth wasn't here to object; but Will would make sure that his father-in-law didn't once more worm his way into their lives through his generous donations.

"How long have I been here?" he wanted to know.

"Since last night, sir."

Last night. So at least he had not been lying around on Mr. Swann's time and under his keeping for very long.

Estrella was standing calmly beside him. She said nothing else and seemed to be letting him know that he could take as much time as he needed in order to regain his strength, and that she wouldn't rush him.

Will looked up at her.

"You don't really have to help me; not if you don't want to," he reminded her. She glared back at him.

"Yes I must," Estrella replied in a slightly miffed voice. "It is my bounden duty."

There was a pause.

"Thank you," said Will, rather lamely.

The maid blinked slowly. "Why - you're welcome, sir," she said. "Now, let me help you to the parlor. It is a bit of a walk from here, and you'll never find it on your own I warrant. Besides, the tea should be ready just about now."

She helped Will to his feet and assisted him along down the hall, routinely stumbling and falling into the walls or the furniture. Nearly five halls and a score of rooms down, they came to a set of doors and stopped. There was a dignified servant posted in front of it and he gave Will a quick look over before Estrella confronted him.

"It's Master Turner you great lump," she scolded. "Now open the door this instant before the man collapses."

Immediately the servant leapt to attention. He flew into the parlor to announce them with a flurry of his brocaded coat tails.

"I will not collapse," Will hissed indignantly into Estrella's ear. She met his gaze with a small grin.

"Of course not, but Pidgeon's always been rather slow about his business, and I only thought it fit to liven him up a bit," the maid answered back. "Only, of course, if it is all right with you, sir."

Will shrugged with his good shoulder.

Pidgeon reappeared just then to inform them that Weatherby Swann awaited their presence.

"Yes, yes," Estrella said busily. "Now shoo, and let us pass." She prodded the servant with her elbow causing him to go rather pink, and motioned for him to help Will into the parlor.

Weatherby Swann was seated at the far end of the room on a small, dainty Queen Anne chair, to the slight right of an equally small table. He had been crossing his legs, but this ceased as he rose to greet his son-in-law.

"Mr. Turner," he said pleasantly as Will entered the room. "How are you?"

Will glowered. "Aside from this blasted wound," he muttered, "I'm feeling quite fine. Thank you for asking."

The sarcasm seemed to offset Weatherby's train of thought for he paused at the start of a new sentence with his mouth slightly open. Then, as if rethinking his words, he decided against it and motioned to a nearby settee.

"Estrella, you can put Mr. Turner there," he commanded.

"I would like to have a chair, if you don't mind," Will corrected him, but Mr. Swann shook his head.

"I advise against it. Your arm will not heal if you are not careful with yourself, Mr. Turner. I do recommend that you take the couch." He said it with an air of finality, and Will's arm hurt so badly that he had not the spirit to object. With one last look of defiance he removed his arm from around Estrella's neck and proudly took the settee by himself. The maid smiled to herself and quietly retired to a corner where she would wait silently until called.

Mr. Swann eyed Will who returned the look with all of the bitterness he could muster.

"Tea?" Weatherby offered humbly. Will shook his head.

There was a long silence.

"I realize that it has been some time since we last talked but - " the former governor began at last but Will cut him off.

"This is no time for pleasantries Mr. Swann. I want to set things straight immediately. My wife has been kidnapped, and enough time has been wasted on my account already."

"Ah," Mr. Swann said, and his hands shook a little at the mention of his daughter.

"Someone will need to go after her," continued Will. "I will need a ship if I am to set out."

"You are going to search for her?"

Will was taken aback. "Of course," he said. "I am after all her husband."

"I really must protest!" Mr. Swann interrupted. "You are hardly in the physical condition required for such a task. I do hope you don't mind, but I have already taken the liberty of calling upon someone who might be able to help us."

The door of the parlor swung open and Pidgeon stepped in.

"May I present, Commodore Norrington," he warbled, and Will watched in horror as the most loathsome man in his living memory walked into the room.

The Commodore bowed.

"I do hope that I am not to late," he said evenly. "Ah," spotting Will, "Mr. Turner, how do you do?"

John Norrington, Will was disgusted to find, had not lost any of his suavity. He was just as smug as ever, and just as impeccably dressed. Will did notice just a few more graying hairs underneath the glossy combed wig, and there were strange crows' feet around the corners of the Commodore's eyes, but Will dismissed this as usual signs of age. That and perhaps the marriage that had supposedly been so successful. Will could admire anyone who managed to cohabit any single home with Emma Forinney, renown the continent over for her incessant chatter and annoying gossipy behavior, and believed that any woman such as her could put gray in your hair well before your time.

"Commodore," he acknowledged.

Mr. Swann seemed to find that it was time to switch the subject.

"Ah, John; there you are," he said briskly. "Do have a seat. Mr. Turner and I were just discussing the matter of a search. He has suggested that he be the one to go."

Norrington took the chair offerred him, and thoughtfully tapped one side of his nose.

"I don't believe that that is wise, Mr. Turner," he drawled assertively. "The search could take more than a few days and you do not look quite well enough to last aboard a ship for very much longer than a couple of hours." He eyed the bandage on Will's shoulder as if silently pronouncing him unfit to be out of bed. Will's pride bristled immediately.

"Despite what you may think, Commodore," he spat out, "I find myself perfectly well. My health is not an issue, you realize, in the face of my wife's abduction."

Mr. Swann smiled bewilderedly and tried to look polite. John Norrington was flaring at the nostrils, but remained expertly silent, pretending to busy himself with a cup of tea that had been handed to him. An awkward silence descended upon the room as all three men tried not to look each other in the eye. In the corner Estrella stood with her head bowed meekly, but this did not stop her gaze from flitting expectantly around at the scene before her. When at last the silence became almost resonant, Norrington raised his voice.

"I have talked with the governor about it," he mentioned. "He asked me to extend the invitation of an informal dinner at his house tonight to discuss the matter further. You could...inquire about the loan of a ship then, if you wish."

"Good!" Mr. Swann exclaimed. "It's settled then." He and Norrington both rose from their seats.

"But, hold on," Will spluttered in amazement. "An informal dinner? We cannot tarry that long; Elizabeth may have reached the Indies by that time!"

Norrington smiled politely.

"My dear Mr. Turner," he said. "We cannot simply go bounding after a Pirate ship without taking great measures in planning. It's a bit like leaping in battle without a weapon." He and Mr. Swann exchanged knowing looks.

Will wasn't satisfied.

"I will not wait!" he exclaimed, and to everyone's amazement, he got slowly up from the settee to stand before them in determination.

"Elizabeth is out there, all alone, surrounded by a great band of pirates. If that does not strike terror in your heart, for her sake if anything else, then you are quite senseless and it would do me great ill to serve with you on any mission," he told them fiercely. Estrella bit back a proud smile. "That's it," she thought. Will took a fumbled step back and would have fallen, but he caught himself just in time. Mr. Swann's eyes were screwed up in worry, and Norrington himself looked a little shamed at Will's words.

"You're quite right," the Commodore said at last. "We are being too slow. I will visit the Governor, and perhaps you may talk with him sooner. I will try everything in my power." He nodded staunchly, and shook Will's hand.

"Goodbye, Mr. Turner; Mr. Swann," the Commodore acknowleged. He put on his hat and left the room. As the door shut behind him, Will fell back onto the settee in an exhausted heap. Estrella ran to his side with a cry.

"All of this talk has worn him out completely!" she moaned. "He is not well enough to stand such pressures as these."

Weatherby Swann blinked. "But he said he was quite fit?" he wondered. Estrella shot a repressing look at him.

"He was lying of course," she scoffed. "Wouldn't you, if your wife had been kidnapped and you were incapable of looking for her?"

The moment the words were out, she regretted them. Mr. Swann kept his eyes on the ground. Estrella had forgotten; Elizabeth's mother had died of tuberculosis. She had been ill for a long time, wavering in between life and death, and through out the entire period of her illness there had been nothing Mr. Swann could have done. He could only sit back and watch as she died.

"I - I'm sorry, Sir," Estrella muttered, but Weatherby met her gaze with glistening eyes.

"No, no; its perfectly alright," he said. "I have been a fool. Of course he should go and look for Elizabeth. If there had been anything I could have done...during Margaret's illness...I would have done it."

Mr. Swann helped her to lift Will up, carefully, and bear him back down the hall to the bedroom. Will remained unconscious even when they laid him on the bed. Estrella found a bowl of cool water and dutifully dabbed it onto his forehead with a soft cloth.

Mr. Swann watched them both, silently.

"He's a good man," he said suddenly.

Estrella nodded, but did not look up.

"Yes," she whispered. "He is."

They both watched the sleeping man on the bed for a while until finally Mr. Swann turned, noiselessly, and left the room, leaving Estrella alone. The fire in the room was dying now, and with it the light. The bedroom grew darker and darker as the flames in the grate grew smaller, until at last in the silence they dwindled away to nothing.

Estrella still remained.

No one saw the tear that trickled down the maid's cheek as she stroked her master's hot face. No one saw her lovingly press his hand with hers or heard her whisper to him in the darkness.

No one saw her bend slowly over him as she pressed a small, tender kiss to his forehead.

* * *

A-N: Thus the plot thickens. Hope you like it. R&R: would be appreciated.

Also, do read my newly posted 'Requiem for Blood' (if you like vampires)


	14. What Must Be Done

At half past six, Norrington's carriage rolled punctually up to the gravel walk of Terris Alcote. Inside the marble hallway, Weatherby Swann put the finishing touches to his cravat. His hands were shaking a little, which rattled his composure, or was the other way around? Weatherby's left eye twitched nervously as he turned to the small hanging mirror to admire his reflection. It all seemed so irrelevant to him, all this fuss over a dinner party, and he both looked and felt lachrymose, at best.

A small creaking noise behind him caused him to turn away from the mirror. It was Will; he was standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a clean waistcoat and cravat, but his face was ashen and damp with a hint of perspiration and Weatherby could not help noticing that he had one arm slung around Estrella's shoulders. She had one hand to his chest to steady him as they took each stair together on at a time, and it was with a twinge of sadness that Weatherby realized that his son-in-law actually could not support himself and would have fallen headlong if the maid hadn't been helping him. A little moisture hazed Weatherby's eyes as he remembered a day, not a few years before, when a bright eyed Elizabeth had descended stairs very much like these on her way to Norrington's promotion to Commodore, and Will had been waiting for her, fit and whole, in the rapt attention of his youthful affections. These memories did little to ease the tension of the moment. In an effort to hide his tears, Mr. Swann smiled half-heartedly at his son in law.

"The carriage is waiting," he managed.

Will did not return the smile. "Our time would be much better benefited if we were out looking for Elizabeth, instead of wasting it at a dinner party," he retorted. Not knowing what to say to this, Weatherby simply nodded, and gestured for the footman to open the door.

The night was warm and clear as they exited into it and went down the walk to Norrington's carriage.

"Be careful, Master Will," Estrella warned him quietly as he prepared to enter the carriage. "You're not in good health, and it would be best not to excite yourself too much just yet."

Will nodded mutely and removed his arm from around the maid's shoulders. Weatherby watched him get in before following his lead. Estrella stepped back apace as the footman shut the carriage door. Will glanced at her through the window and she could see that his face was drawn in pain. She felt an arrow of concern pierce through her.

The carriage began to move away from her. She could not wave, for she was only a servant, but she felt her heart go out to her master as he sped off towards the Governor's mansion where, hopefully, he would see some decision meted out on Elizabeth's behalf.

Inside the carriage, Norrington nodded a solemn greeting to Will and the former governor, and the latter returned the salutation, more out of politeness than an actual desire to see him. Will said nothing, nor did he show any visible sign of having noticed Norrington at all.

It would have been a silent trip had not Emma Norrington leaned into the light from out of her shadowy corner and boisterously offered her greetings to her father's predecessor.

"Mr. Swann!" she crowed. "How lovely to see you!" Weatherby flinched at his name where Emma had forgotten to include his title. It was always appropriate to call a retired governor by his relinquished gubernatorial facet, but Emma had always been stubbornly lacking in that formality.

"Mrs. Norrington," he responded politely. "I would extend my thanks to you for your father's kindness in his invita-"

"And Mr. Turner!" Emma cut in rudely. "I had not expected to see you, but of course it was your wife after all that – oh, but it is pleasant to see you. Dear me; you look quite ill! Does your arm plague you so?"

Will looked up, startled that Norrington's wife should direct a comment to him.

"I – well," he began, but Emma was not finished.

"Oh! You poor thing! You shouldn'tve come, in such a state!" She put out her lower lip, and Will cast his eyes downward in order to conceal his disgust.

"The party will be grand indeed," Emma continued, taking no notice of him. "Of course, my father's dinners are always commendable. In England, articles detailing our parties were always sure to make the Society Page! Our cooks have always been some of the finest in England! When we came here, we had our chef conscripted as well for we would not do without him. He came by separate ship, of course; I cannot abide to travel with any person in less station than I myself have been accustomed. It is this very same cook who has prepared our meal tonight! Is this not grand?" Emma smiled at everyone expectantly. Will wondered how such an entitled person managed to ride in the same carriage as himself, much less live in the same town. Weatherby awoke with a start from a daze that he had fallen inadvertently into, managing just in time to comment, "Yes; quite grand, quite grand."

Will could not believe his ears. The woman was actually going on about their dinner as if they were all socialites and the party had been eagerly waited upon for a year. Despite his disgust, Will remained silent. His head was beginning to ache with Emma's chatter, and he could think of nothing but Elizabeth.

Norrington noticed his silence and felt a little ashamed. His wife was behaving very rashly, and he personally felt that she could have had more tact, especially considering the situation. He remembered how silent she had been on the subject of Elizabeth's kidnapping, sitting rigidly on the settee with her lips tightly pursed as he told her what had happened. The only time she appeared to have heard him at all was when he mentioned her father having organized a meeting, over dinner, where the plans of rescue would be discussed. He wondered if the gravity of the situation had reached her at all.

Now, she was patting his knee with practiced affection as she purred lovingly, "I can't imagine a more agreeable way to spend an evening than at my father's mansion, can't you dearest?" Norrington stared at her in shocked incomprehension. "My dear," he began, "I think you'll find that we are not going there for a party."

There was a pregnant pause, and Mr. Swann sailed to the rescue.

"_I_ certainly cannot think of a better way to spend an evening," he noted complementarily, and Emma was all smiles once again. Both Will and Norrington detected a hint of sharp sarcasm in the former governor's tones, but were much too polite to say anything.

After what seemed like hours, with Emma talking incessantly throughout the entire jaunt, the carriage pulled to a halt at the gates of the Governor's mansion.

"Well, here we are," Mr. Swann noted brightly. Norrington started, and looked out of the window as if to see that it was true, and Will continued to stare moodily in front of him.

A footman in fancy livery opened the carriage door, and Will leapt immediately onto the gravel walk before the steps could be pulled down. His arm twinged with his sudden movements, but he was so desperate to be out of Emma's company that he would have suffered even more pain to do so.

Mr. Swann descended after him

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Turner?" he asked in concern, but at the same time keeping his voice low. Will grimaced. "Quite," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Much better now that that woman has left off her damned conversation."

Mr. Swann patted him comfortingly on the back, being either too polite to say anything, or too understanding. Norrington bounded out of the carriage and exhaled into the air. He caught Weatherby's twinkling eye and looked busily away to extend his arm to his wife, who ignored it as she bustled importantly off up the walk.

The doors of the mansion were opened as the Governor stepped out. All of the men inclined their heads respectfully in his direction, and Emma flounced to his side. "Father!" she cried happily.

The governor was grim.

"Greetings to you all," he said gravely. "Do, come inside."

True to Emma's claims, dinner was indeed a lavish affair, though; unfortunately for the poor cook, no one felt inclined to eat it. Will sat in stony silence in front of a lone, small helping of steamed fruit which Emma had compelled him to take. Norrington, too, lost in thought, stared moodily at the enormous pigeon that lay stuffed and roasted on the table in front of him. Only Weatherby Swann, due to years of socials, banquets, and other undesirable meetings of the kind, had remained calm enough to reserve his manners. He had served himself a moderate serving of oyster dressing and _Terrine de Saumon aux Epinards_, and sat manfully eating it. Even the governor seemed removed in mind as he sat absentmindedly chewing on a mouthful of salmon fillet.

Emma Norrington was the only one present who was either incapable of recognizing the gravity of the atmosphere, or deliberately refused to, and Will was almost certain it was the latter. The lady Norrington had heaped her plate with a little of everything, and commented delightedly on it with every bite, never once ceasing to talk although hers was the only voice at the table.

Will's shoulder had begun to ache furiously, and he had begun to sweat. The tension around him clouded his brain and made his head hurt, and he cast a desperate look at Weatherby, who passed it on to Norrington.

Norrington himself had had enough.

"Governor, if we could return to the grave matter that has brought us to your table?" he began finally. "What can be done about Mrs. Turner?"

Emma's silverware hit her plate with a clank. The governor looked up. "Mrs. Tur-? Ah, yes; well, her situation is a tricky one…"

"We will send ships, of course," Norrington decided.

"Ships?" asked the governor. "Oh, no; no. The threat of the French hangs too perilously over the British Caribbean Colonies. A small squadron of ships in the size of that which would be sent, if taken by the enemy, would hardly be expected to survive, and we could not risk impairing our fleet in such a manner."

Norrington was turning red. "We can at least send the message throughout the fleet to be on the lookout for Mrs. Turner, and the ship of the pirates that have taken her. Indeed, I know for a fact that at least one of our clippers can be sent out of its way. We have a very large Navy, sir, and the threat of the French, as it were, is not so imminent in many remote areas of the Caribbean."

The governor blinked and stabbed his fork into a kipper to relieve his emotions.

"I will send orders," Norrington continued, "To those on the patrol line to extend their routes to include the borderlines and the coves. As it is, my personal fleet devoted to the capturing of the pirates will also be put solely after the cause."

"Commander, I really must protest!" the governor growled. "To many ships to be put off of their normal rounds, all for the sake of one missing person!"

"I quite agree!" put in Emma. "If Mrs. Turner was so heedless as to get herself captured, she can hardly be expected to have half the Royal English Navy out looking for her!"

A deadly silence fell around the table. Will felt his temperature rise in anger. Norrington sat, stunned and ashamed, beside his wife. Even Weatherby was speechless.

Will threw his napkin down onto his plate.

"Madame," said Mr. Swann breathlessly, "This is my daughter we speak of." Will glared at Emma with unfathomable hatred. "Excuse me," he spat out the words as he left the table bitterly. Everyone avoided his gaze, but none among them could blame him for his irritation.

After Will had gone, Norrington looked up.

"Mr. Swann," he said quietly, "Please excuse my wife. Her comments were entirely unpardonable." Slowly he got to his feet.

"_John_!" Emma cried, her cheeks burning scarlet. Her husband looked at her with hurt and disgust in his eyes, but said no more as he went to join Will on the portico immediately outside the dining room.

Will stood with his back to the other guests, staring out at the harbor. It was quiet, steeped in the lulling velvet of night, with the soft glow of the full moon above tinting the rooftops. The sound of raucous laughter floated in from the bar across the town. Will heard the door swing open behind him, and watched awkwardly as Norrington came to a stand beside him.

"I want you to know," the latter began slowly, "That I am not ignoring your case." There was a slight pause and Norrington surveyed Will out of the corner of his eye. "In fact, I intend to go personally in search of Mrs. Turner."

Before Will could recover from his shock enough to answer, much less thank him, Norrington had gone. He had returned inside as quickly and subtly as he had come. As the commander walked into the dining room to face his irate wife, the double doors on the far end of the room were opened to admit a finely dressed Captain with a pompous air and a feathered hat under his arm.

"Carlisle!" Norrington greeted him, glad to see someone to prevent him from having what promised to be a rather embarrassing episode with Emma. "How good of you to come by! The last I'd heard of you, you were heading off that rogue Sparrow! Tell me, man; how did that go?"

Carlisle blushed. Everyone was watching him expectantly, waiting to hear the news. Out on the portico, Will's ears pricked up at the sound of the notorious pirate's name.

"Well," said Carlisle; "You see," said Carlisle.

"It's like this," said Carlisle.

"Spit it out, man!" said Norrington.

"We were on his tail, and then; we weren't, any longer…" the captain finished lamely.

"Ah."

"I don't even know how it happened, sir!" Carlisle searched the room for sympathy, or a quick escape.

"Yes, indeed. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." Norrington glared at the captain. "Report to the Fort, if you will. I will be momentarily to reassign you. I had planned for you to be put on another hunt, but since you seem slightly incapable of accomplishing such a thing, I have a nice trade route you can patrol."

"Yes sir," said Carlisle miserably, slinking away. Weatherby cast a knowing glance in Norrington's direction.

Out on the portico Will had just had a revelation. Jack Sparrow. If anyone would be able to help him, it would be Jack. And Will was pretty certain he knew where the pirate was to be found.

The ride home was particularly tense. Emma and Will both sat in stony silence, avoiding each other's gaze, and hating each other every minute. Norrington spent the entire time staring moodily out of the carriage window, and Mr. Swann the entire time looking uneasily around, trying to think of something pleasant to say. It was a relief to all when at last they arrived at the steps of Terris Alcote. Norrington woke up enough to bid them adieu, and Emma was barely civil, only nodding coldly in response to Weatherby's polite farewell.

Norrington waited until the carriage had actually begun to move again before he said his piece.

"Could you have possibly held your tongue until we were away from young Mr. Turner and Mr. Swann? Your comments were positively tactless."

Emma whirled on her husband.

"How can you berate me so?" she cried in fury. "It's you who are to blame: not me! It's that hussy, Elizabeth, who's gone missing, isn't it. She's muddled your thoughts. You're far too attached to her; sending out half the Navy indeed." Emma flounced her head and stared dejectedly out of the window.

Her words stung Norrington, mostly because, as he realized, she was right. He was far too attached to Elizabeth.

As a matter of fact, after four years, he was still desperately in love with her. He looked at his wife now with this conviction now firmly in place. "Mrs. Turner is a very good friend of mine, just as her father is," Norrington felt he had to explain. "It would be entirely unpardonable for me not to help out where I am entirely enabled."

"I do not believe you!" Emma whined petulantly. "I don't see any reason to try and save some tart who's gone sodding off after pirates!"

"Elizabeth's not a tart!" Norrington bellowed irritably, then instantly he realized his mistake. "Mrs. Turner," he tried to recover himself, "I meant to say, Mrs. Turner."

Emma's mouth formed a perfect **O**.

"I knew it," she grimaced, her bleating voice trembling with rage. "_You love her still_."

Norrington's eyes flashed. Raising his right arm he rapped his knuckles sharply against the speaking box next to the driver's seat.

"Take me to the Fort!" he roared when the shutter was opened.

Emma burst into tears.

"They've arrived back already?"

Thomas the butler looked up from his pipe.

"Of course. Didn't you know? Master Will went tearing up to his rooms like the Devil was at his heels." The butler whistled solemnly at the remembrance. "He was in a right state."

"He couldn't have been tearing, Thomas. You know, his arm. He must have been quite upse-" Her hand flew to her mouth.

Estrella wondered how it had all slipped past her, right under her nose as it were.

"I must go to him!" she said with passion. Thomas watched her in surprise as she dashed by him out of the kitchen where they had been warming their feet, and up the stairs to the next level on which the family lived.

She found Will in his room, hurriedly stuffing a spare shirt into a small rucksack.

"Why Master Will!" Estrella cried before she could stop herself. "You're not leaving!"

Will turned to her, a little disconcerted at both finding someone behind him unexpectedly, and shock at the maid's uncharacteristic outburst.

"Yes, I'm leaving," he told her. "You mustn't tell anyone, Estrella."

The maid, all reserve abandoned in a flash, flew to his side. "But why, Master Will? Why must you go?"

Will put down the rucksack and faced her slowly.

"It was pirates, Estrella; pirates, that abducted Elizabeth," he said quietly, "And from the look of things, they were really good at what they did. Norrington is going after them – it's been finalized and there's nothing I can do – but I guarantee that he will not be able to find them. The simple reason for this is that he does not know the most elusive pirate haunts." Will searched Estrella's questioning face.

"Only I can find her," he said desperately. "It's all up to me now."

Estrella remained silent until Will had finished packing. She watched him go to the mantelpiece and take down something wrapped in a long linen cloth. "This is for Wilde," he muttered as he unwrapped it for her to see. Slowly he drew a glistening sword from out of the linen. Will looked at it for a moment, watching the firelight flicker off of the blade as he remembered what the sword had done to him. He had not had the strength to finish it himself, but Tom Shilling had been more than happy to do it for him.

"This…" said Will darkly, examining the weapon, "Is Wilde's sword. I do remember that he ordered it."

Estrella's eyes were fearful. "Are you going to-" she began but Will cut her off.

"Yes, I am. Ever since he stuck this blade into my arm he willed it on himself." Will looked up at the trembling maid. "Of course, in order to kill him, I have to find him first."

Estrella nodded. "I do not doubt that you will," she said softly, after a pause. Will watched her as she said it and his hand clenched tighter around the scabbard of the sword. Tears were welling thick and fast in Estrella's eyes as she watched him fasten the weapon to his belt.

"Oh, Master Will!" she cried, and flew into his arms before he could speak. "Estrella?" Hesitantly he put an arm around her.

"There's no need to cry."

The maid sniffed a little, her face buried in his waistcoat. Finally she pulled away.

"I am most apologetic, sir," she said hastily, wiping away her tears. "I-I don't know what came over me."

Will brushed this aside.

"There's no need to feel ashamed. I really don't belong on this pedestal that denotes you as my servant. Really, we're all on the same level together. I don't even pay you, you realize."

Estrella smiled. "Yes," she said. "Thank you, sir."

"It's Will, actually. Just Will."

She nodded solemnly. "Will," the maid repeated slowly.

At the back door of Terris Alcote, Will bade Estrella goodbye and warned her most urgently not to tell anyone of his departure, nor certainly of his intentions to find his wife.

"It's too much of a risk," he explained in a half-whisper lest he wake anyone in the house. "I'll be an outlaw if it's discovered I've gone off to join up with pirates, and it would not help to have Norrington on my tail either."

Estrella agreed solemnly, and swore not to tell a soul.

As Will slung his rucksack over his wounded shoulder, a silent tear slipped down the maid's cheek. Will saw it, and slowly reached up to brush it away.

"Take heart," he told her softly. "I can't have you crying on my behalf."

Estrella clutched his hand to her cheek as if to try and delay his departure for a little longer, and looked into his eyes. Will watched her and wondered how she could take it all with such patience as she did. Her mistress was twice captured, her household changed from a mansion to a ne'er do-well town home in a single marriage, and that marriage suffered of small cracks as well.

"I wonder why it is that you have never married, Estrella," Will asked. The maid gazed at him unabashedly.

"In truth, sir-"

"-Will," he corrected.

"In truth, Will," Estrella repeated with a blush, "I have never found a man that I'd liked very much better than any other."

Will grinned. "I see." She released his hand slowly, never breaking eye contact. He was no stranger to that sort of look, and as a result, recognized it immediately.

Estrella…was in love with HIM.

This new knowledge made him feel even worse, ultimately because he did not and could not, furthermore, return the affection. The best remedy would be for him to leave as soon as he could.

"I…have to go," said Will, voicing his decision almost as if to back it up in his mind. Estrella's lip trembled. Will watched her and felt another pang of guilt. Steadily and hesitantly he bent down and kissed her cheek. Estrella inhaled sharply.

"Take could care of Henry for me," Will told her gravely. "Goodbye, Estrella."

Without further ado, he shifted his pack on his shoulder and set off toward the docks without looking back.


End file.
